


leave it to the land, this is what it knows

by CheskaNova



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkwardness, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Siblings, Slow Burn, So Much Awkwardness, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25126000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheskaNova/pseuds/CheskaNova
Summary: Aldae was not kind.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, The Iron Bull/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 10





	1. though i've handled the wood i still worship the flame

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all. this is my first fanfiction, so I'm just gonna go hide under a rock. hope you like it.

Aldae didn’t do favours. She believed in taking care of Amas and herself, and that was it. If you relied on someone else, that meant ties. Ties held you down, ties meant weight.

Give her wood. Give her iron. She could carry all kinds of physical burdens. But this?

You don’t repay ‘kindness’ because someone managed to bite their tongue before they called you “knife ears”. You don’t throw trust around because some shems didn’t kill your brother when he survived the sky turning green. 

You don’t do someone a favour because they were honest about being a Qunari spy or because they hadn’t tried to kill your brother so far.

And yet. Here she was.

\---

Amas was kind. He was kind and compassionate, and endlessly forgiving. In Haven, this so-called ‘Inquisition’ had persecuted, persuaded and paraded Amas just in 24 hours. He was quiet but persistent. He never had and never would willingly encourage the idea that he was some so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’, but he wouldn’t get angry at people reaching for faith in dark times. In Skyhold, they had raised him to a position of power he had never sought, but he wouldn’t refuse an opportunity to help people.

\---

Aldae was not kind. She didn’t think herself to be cruel, but she had bigger things to worry about . Like, how does she fix her brother’s magic hand? How does she get them out of this international mess where her brother is suddenly the spearhead of some organisation hell-bent on destroying an ancient Tevinter magister? How does she build them better weapons when she can’t bear to be in the forge thanks to the friendly, local arcanist who won't shut up about the damn Veil. How do they win this ridiculous fight and get out of here?

She had to find other ways to distract herself until a new situation that she could fix presented itself. As stunning as the view from the forge under Skyhold was, she still missed the forests of the Free Marches, her clan’s remarkable ability to create a workshop wherever they went. She missed the comfort of being around elves that she knew and trusted.

In Skyhold, the only peace she could find would be in the dusty underground library where she’d occasionally bump into Dorian, (who appreciated the purposeful silence) or the rooftops along the top edge of the rookery. The greenery was severely lacking, but the quiet was acceptable. 

With every instinct and every shred of common sense, she told herself to not make friends. Not to encourage attachments (unless specifically for her brother’s benefit). She could be rude and brash and it was easier for everyone if she just stayed in the background and watched over Amas. It was better to resist his constant encouragement for her to join his friends for Wicked Grace or strolls around the castle.

She couldn’t rationalise a reason as to why she was in The Iron Bull’s chamber’s above the inn, without permission. Maybe this was just to show Amas that she was trying to play nicely, making friends with the rest of this (His?) ‘Inquisition’. 

It was in order to fix his roof. She was only doing maintenance.

The dilapidation and holes were appalling. It didn't fit with the image of a powerful, international organisation, one that her brother led no less, to have it's members live in ramshackle barracks. She didn’t support the Inquisition as such, but she supported her brother. If this was a path they had to walk, they would do so properly. Which meant fixing this broken roof. The quartermaster had said that if the structural integrity was fine then they had bigger priorities. But Amas had opted to take Blackwall with him to the Fallow Mire instead of her, based on some Warden information. She had spare time right now. That was the only reasoning. 

Aldae allowed herself to get absorbed in the vibrations of hammering nails into wood, and the ache in her shoulders as she stretched from the bed frame to reach the ceiling. The work was therapeutic, she could forget that Amas was at the south end of the continent negotiating with Avaar shems. With every whack of her mallet, she could pretend this was simply an arravel, that there was no hulking Qunari (that she couldn’t banish from her mind) in the training ring below. Every time the iron nail under her scarred fingers dug deeper into the old beams, she could imagine it was another thrust into her---

“Lavellan? I can’t say I don’t appreciate the view, but..” - 

Well. 

Shit.

\---

The Iron Bull didn’t consider himself to be particularly kind. Every action had a motive. He would be upfront about his Ben-hassrath contacts and knowledge, because that would make the Inquisition leaders trust him more. A fair share of knowledge. He would help train the foot soldiers, it made him more knowledgeable about their tactics and warfare. He’d ‘entertain’ the working staff of this fortress in the sky, who else knew the whispers better than those who were never noticed?  
Also, a secret tryst with a barmaid was always fun. 

Inquisitor Amas was an open book. He was kind, possibly too kind to be a leader. And yet, here they were on a mountain top plotting the future of Thedas. Becoming part of the inner circle was a bonus, and it was comforting having a reliable source of income for the Chargers. 

The inn, unsurprisingly, was his favourite haunt. Loose lips, and all that. But as time had progressed, especially since moving their base of operations to this blasted mountain (that was so cold he thought his nipples would fall off) Bull thought less and less about sinking ships. Idealistic as he was, Amas’ intentions were noble, and the plan to destroy some vint bastard was more than enough reason to run headlong into a very fun fight. He had witnessed first hand how much Amas cared for every mission, regardless of its scope. He had a knack of being so welcoming he could disable even his greatest critics. 

Bull's Chargers seemed at home here, and that brought warmth to his heart.

His favourite nights were when the fire was roaring in the inn, his knee didn’t ache quite as much, he’d catch Krem blushing under the gaze of the bard Maryden and some of the inner circle would gather for Wicked Grace. He and Varric would swap knowing looks when Amas and Dorian would trade ‘discreet’ touches. Sera and Blackwall would share drinks and stories as Cole lingered nearby. Sometimes when she was back at base, even Scout Harding would join them. The advisors were usually too busy, but sometimes Amas would try to drag them to the inn if their war meetings had gone on late. 

A few times, Amas had tried to coax his elusive sister to the inn. Bull would hear the door creak open, hear the boss’s gentle laughter and a stronger, stern voice protesting outside. He’d spy shocks of white hair bundle through the door and maneuver to the bar, but she’d usually break off when they got their drinks, Amas would be called over by someone or other and his sister would find a dark corner to lurk in, or sometimes disappear entirely. Bull was certainly intrigued by Lavellan, but other than a few polite words they’d never really spoken. He’d seen her working on projects around the keep, and had keenly watched her spar with other recruits. Her fighting style was fierce, she’d managed to put Cassandra on her ass periodically, much to the Seeker’s displeasure. 

She was a quiet character, but her posture said more than words could ever. She stood tall (tall for an elf, too) and proud, shoulders squared, face stony. Distant from most people in the Inquisition but around the Inquisitor you could physically see the rigidity in her spine soften, and a small smile would play on her scarred lips. (How had she gotten that particular scar?)

She was a closed book, and most of what he knew about her was only from what Amas had told him. Bull hated not knowing. Everyone knew she was reclusive, her quiet voice reserved for the boss and occasionally Cole, who’s presence she quietly tolerated. She stuck to herself.  
This all made it more confusing when, after a sparring match with Krem in the ring downstairs, he’d made his way up to his quarters above the inn to find the solitary Lavellan in his room. On his bed. Huh.

She was perched precariously on the bed frame, stretching up to the roof where she was hammering nails into leather hide, creating a temporary canopy to cover the hole in his roof. The loose, worn tunic she was in showed off the lean muscles in her arms, her hair was tousled and pulled back and she clearly hadn’t noticed the sound of the door open. 

The Iron Bull couldn’t help but notice the way her vallaslin curled down her arms and (from what he could see) her torso and back, but would be interrupted here and there by old gashes and marks. From forging accidents or fights? The one thing that truly stood out to him though, was how much softer she seemed. Her brows seemed furrowed in concentration rather than anger, her lips pursed around a spare iron nail rather than her usual frown. Bull watched as a bead of sweat ran down the back of her neck, before he realised he was staring.

He should stop staring. 

“Lavellan? I can’t say I don’t appreciate the view, but..” - 

\--- 

Every fiber of her being desperately wished to disappear. Or to turn to stone and topple from her perch, smashing into dust, any consciousness drifting away on the wind. “Well, shit.” 

“The Iron Bull.” She stepped down from the bed frame, turning to face him, desperately attempting nonchalance. “Your roof needed fixing. I didn’t wish to disturb you.” 

The qunari loomed in the doorway, before chuckling and taking a step inside. He half-expected her to dart out of the opposite door when he moved, like a skittish deer, but she stood tall and rooted. “Thank you, I guess? It wasn’t a problem though, I didn’t mind the skylight.” He took another step inside the room.

“Stupid-stupid-stupid”. “Oh.” 

They stood in painfully awkward silence for a moment. “Well” she started, reaching to gather her tools, “I’ll be leaving now.” She turned on her heel, heading for the closest exit. There was a shuffling behind her, and a gentle cough. “You er, forgot a hammer”. 

Aldae took a deep breath, trying to stay composed and spun back around. She was getting dizzy. The Iron Bull held her spare hammer out towards her, but far enough away that she’d have to enter his space. She steadily approached him, maintaining eye contact with his one good eye. 

Bull noticed her squared chin, the way she kept her gaze level and unnerved, not something he was used to truly. Most people feigned politeness in his company on the Inquisitor’s behalf, but he was used to recognising that glint of fear. There was no fear in Lavellan’s eyes as she strode towards him. Something different… annoyance? No, not annoyance. A fierceness blazed behind her grey eyes as she reached for the hammer from his outstretched hand. She broke their gaze to look down to his hand and he was momentarily disappointed at the lack of eye contact. She grabbed the tool before turning quickly and walking away.

She’d just gotten to the door when Bull blurted out “Lavellan?” 

Her shoulders tensed even more, but she didn’t turn around. 

“Thanks.” 

Shoulders relaxing, she threw a polite nod over her shoulder before fleeing through the door and seeking refuge somewhere quiet and very, very isolated. Aldae desperately needed somewhere deserted to chastise herself for being stupid enough to think she could pull off something like this without making a fool of herself. Beneath the anger was something that burned hotter, and she was not prepared to think about that right now. 

\---

The door slammed close behind the retreating elf’s form, leaving Bull on his own in the now slightly less freezing room. The canopy was already helping take the chill off the room. 

“Huh.”

She had grey eyes. 

The Iron Bull smiled, feeling like he’d been treated to a rare piece of Antivan cocoa. He’d just learnt something about the elusive Lavellan. 

\---


	2. any way to distract and sedate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because drinking away your problems has always been a valid solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, hope you like it

It was early evening, nearly two weeks later that Amas finally returned to Skyhold. Aldae caught wind of the arrival and planned to meet him at the stables, watching as his party disbanded at the gate with Blackwall and Sera heading off to the inn, but she watched as Dorian lingered. The two spoke softly, their words disappearing on the wind but their smiles were clear as day. Amas placed a soft kiss on the other man’s cheek before turning away to the stables. He cordially greeted every face he passed, new or familiar, a delicate smile on an otherwise tired face. Upon walking his hart to the stables and handing the reins to Dennet, he noticed her tucked away in a corner, arms crossed. 

“Aldae!” 

He flew into her arms, giving her a tight hug that she immediately returned. She sighed, resting her chin on the crown of his head as he held on tight. Tension seeped out of her bones, soaked up by the dirt beneath them. 

“ _Lethallin_ , I’ve missed you.” She held his weight firmly, noticing when he started to sag slightly. “Come, Amas. Let’s get you some rest.”

She snuck them through the kitchens, grabbing a platter of food and wine and miraculously managed to get him through the grand hall without some noble demanding his attention. They trudged up the stairs to his room, steps creaking beneath them. The room was so grand, from the silk sheets to the stained glass windows, no expense had been spared. Amas dramatically threw himself on the bed, feeling beholden to Josephine for somehow finding the softest material in Thedas to bury his face in. 

“The Fallow Mire is most definitely the _grimmest_ place on the whole continent. If I never have to go back there, I will be happy” groaned Amas, pulling off his sodden leather boots. Aldae plonked down next to him on the bed, watching as he gratefully hummed/sighed after taking a bite of olive bread. “It’s just so… _soggy_. It was awful though, a disease had wiped out a whole village before we could even get there, I felt so powerless.” 

The irony was not lost on Aldae as she glanced at the mark on her brother’s hand. The Inquisitor was one of the most powerful entities in the world right now, he had effected so much change already, and most for the better. Grabbing a bottle of wine, she leaned back on the pillows as Amas divulged everything that had happened on their trip to the south.

“Why so pensive?” he asked, catching Aldae off guard.

She shrugged dismissively. “What? Nothing, just, you know I hate not being there with you, I like knowing my _lethallin_ is safe.”

“...No, that’s not it. This isn’t your usual broodiness.” the lines of his faux-frown curved upwards as he teased her.

Aldae harrumphed, always put off by her brother’s ability to read her so easily. “Don’t be silly. I’m fine.” If she didn’t change the topic he’d needle out of her the thoughts she could otherwise bury deep down. “So…” she began. “Dorian, huh?” She quirked an eyebrow, watching a deep blush bloom across his nose and cheeks. 

“Ofcourse, you saw that.” Amas grabbed one of the many pillows, pulling it to his chest and hugging it as he smiled shyly. “I --- we I mean, we’ve travelled together a lot, he’s so talented and charming, and oh!... have you heard that voice, it’s like honey!” His cheeks were even redder now, but his eyes were sparkling. 

“Need I remind you he’s Tevinter? Amas, _lethallin_ , he’s born of the enemy, of slavers!” Aldae took another swig of wine, picking at the label nervously. She’d grabbed a red Tevinter vintage, ironically enough. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Amas’s eyes turned sharply to Aldae, narrowing skeptically. “Aldae. It’s not like that, he’s a good man. And just because he’s human doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a good soul. Don’t close your heart to them so quickly.” His eyes softened again as he sighed, grabbing the wine and taking a sip.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, simply being grateful for each other’s company after too long apart. After swallowing a hunk of bread she placed a hand gently on her brother’s arm and simply murmured “I’m sorry.”

Amas looked back at her with a kind smile. “I know, this has been hard for you. You’re making it harder by keeping to yourself. We have good people here. People who’d be friends to you if you let them.” 

Aldae didn’t respond. They picked at the food and passed the wine back and forth till it was nearly empty as the sun set golden over the mountains outside. The room was lit by the glow of the fire, casting dramatic shadows across the space. Aldae took a deep breath, before she glanced at her brother. “Does he make you happy?” 

Amas, now totally reclined but still hugging his pillow, blushed again. “Very.” He rolled onto his side to look up adoringly at his dear sister. “What about you, though?” 

Quizzically, Aldae looked down at him. “What do you mean?” she queried. The wine had definitely had an effect, she felt slow and mellowed but pleasantly so. Amas only wiggled his eyebrows comically at her before descending into a fit of giggles. It dawned on Aldae what he meant, as she blushed and threw a grape at his head. It bounced off his forehead which did nothing to stem the laughter. “ _Amas!!!_ Stop it!”

Still giggling, Amas pushed himself up to sitting, throwing the grape back at Aldae. “I mean it, perhaps what you need to break out of your shell is a little… _companionship?_ ” His snickers were met with a pillow to the face. 

“ _Lethallin_ , please!” 

“You should see the way that people look at you, Aldae! When you join us in war meetings, Commander Cullen can’t look away from you!”

She guffawed, slapping his arm sharply and moving to rise from the bed. “Don’t be insane, Amas. Creator knows he’s too… ugh… human for me anyway.” Throwing another pillow at him, she paced to the open windows to close them against the cold chill creeping in. 

“Solas tries not to, but he sneaks looks when you pass through the rotunda.” Stunned into silence, Aldae only scrunched her face up in retort. 

“When we tend to our harts in the stable, Blackwall always lingers, staring at you. He’s smitten!” Amas chuckled, playing with the fringed hem of one of the many blankets. As much as he was poking fun at his easy-to-ire sister, he did want her to realise the pell she cast on these poor men. 

Aldae retorted with a gag. She slammed the next window closed. “ _Disgusting._ ”

She stormed back to the bed, snatching the almost empty wine bottle from Amas’ hands as she tutted at him. “Good night, you halla turd.” she quipped, a hint of mirth hiding behind the annoyance. She’d made it to the top of the stairs on slightly uneven feet, when from behind her she heard Amas yell “y’know, The Iron Bull always notices when you walk into the inn!” Aldae froze, a blush flooding her cheeks and spreading down her chest. 

Amas gasped before falling into more fits of giggles. “You’re _blushing!_ ” he cried through snorts of laughter. “It’s just the wine!” she countered, taking the last slug, emptying the bottle and quickly descending the stairs, hearing his smug cry of “ _nuvenin!_ ” as she slammed the door closed.  
Leaning against the cool brick of the stone wall, Aldae willed away the still present blush blooming across her face. The wine had made her tipsy, made her feel bold. Alive. She could feel the warmth creeping lower and cursed her brother for bringing up such things. She needed another drink. Amongst other things. Clumsily stumbling down the rest of the stairs, she made her way to the grand hall which was thankfully quieting down, and finally to the entrance hall door before pushing it open. 

The cold air hit her forcefully, shocking her lungs and sobering her slightly. Across the courtyard, the inn was lit up and a beautiful melody floated on the chilly night wind to lure her in. Taking another deep breath, Aldae pushed down the nervous feeling sitting in her throat and squared her shoulders before starting the short walk. She pushed open the heavy tavern door, relishing the warmth that enveloped her. The bard was performing to a small crowd and no one seemed to notice or acknowledge her entrance, thankfully. After grabbing another bottle of wine from the barkeep, she found a quiet corner and tried to enjoy the music despite the anxiety pooling in her gut. 

\--- 

The Iron Bull kept his usual spot in the inn with his knee elevated by a stool to try and ease the pain that had been plaguing him today. Krem had just gotten him another beer and some of the Chargers were by his side, laughing and listening as Sera recounted stories from the recent excursion to the Fallow Mire. Maryden played to a small group who were dancing enthusiastically, which almost distracted him from a familiar flash of white hair darting through the door. It wasn’t too late but Sera had said the Inquisitor had been particularly exhausted upon returning to the keep, so Bull was surprised to see him doing the rounds already. However, the light from the fire flickered and revealed the figure approaching the bar to be the other, lone Lavellan. 

Bull was stunned for a moment, before Krem slapped him on the arm, “Are you even listening Boss? Sera just said the Avaar leader they fought was strong enough to throw her 20 foot! Last time you tried, your best throw was only 15! You must be slipping...” 

“I can throw you right now Sera and we can set a new record” Bull chuckled menacingly, prompting the archer to throw a string of intelligible insults at him. The conversation continued around him whilst he subtly tried to spy Lavellan. The dancers in the middle of the inn had muddied his usually clear line of sight and it took him a moment to spot her tucked into a dim corner where she was drinking alone, watching the merry band. It was too dark to read her face, but Bull could tell something was different. 

Not knowing what was incredibly distracting. 

\---

“It’s a sad sight, seeing a beautiful lady drinking alone.”

The voice snapped Aldae out of her reverie. She looked up to see a broad shouldered foot soldier standing by her table. His ears peaked out beneath curly brown hair that had been pulled back into a top knot, but at this late hour there were stray curls framing his face. He was handsome, and definitely knew it. No vallaslin, a city elf? Overall, Aldae thought, quite nice to look at, and not particularly threatening. She rolled her eyes, earning her a grin. 

“Would you care to dance, my lady?” he asked, extending his hand to her in a knightly fashion. She snorted. That would be a _sight_. Amas used to joke that she got all the strength, and he got all the grace. She could be agile, but Creator’s forbid there be a beat she had to follow. “Not a chance.” she said, looking back up to the man with a slight smirk. 

“Can’t blame a man for trying.” He seemed to be weighing his options for a moment, before gesturing to the empty chair beside her, “May I take this seat?” he crooned.

The wine had made Aldae feel fuzzy. She’d never usually contemplate engaging with someone so… well, anyone, but right now the attention was nice and he had a very pretty face. She nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the dancing crowd. A voice at the back of her mind wittered away, wondering if the _real_ reason she came to the inn was here. She pushed the voice down, reminding herself she only came to get another drink. 

He settled next to her, his back to the crowd and set his gaze upon her. “Cyris. My name is Cyris.” She studied him, about to respond in kind before realising only Amas and her clan called her by her first name. To anyone else, she was Lavellan. But right now she didn’t want to be the sister of the Inquisitor and deal with the reputation and responsibility of that title right now. The white hair was something of a giveaway, but perhaps the man next to her was all face and no brains. Playing down her agitation, she simply responded asking “Where are you from?” 

Cyris, seemingly happy to discuss himself, started telling her his story of a Ferelden alienage, how he came to join the Inquisition to find a better life and she listened half-heartedly. The heat of the fire and hum of conversation in the inn was comforting and she felt somewhat relaxed. A _true_ feat for her. The last of the wine signaled it was time to capitalise on the night’s events. 

Cutting off the other elf mid sentence, she summoned a slight smile and directed his attention back to her. “Do you know somewhere quiet?” she asked, slyly. Cyris looked surprised, eyebrows furrowed as he nodded. “Would you like to go there with me?” she continued.  
His jaw dropped, clearly expecting to have to play this game for longer but he jumped up, a wide smile across his face as he extended his hand to her. Aldae took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before taking his hand with a barely-there smirk and allowed herself to be led out of the inn into the freezing night air. 

\---

Bull had watched the interaction with curiosity, then concern, then a mild sense of perversion. He’d been worried that the soldier had been harassing the usually aloof Lavellan, disturbing her during a quiet drink perhaps? Yet to his surprise, she seemed to engage the man’s attention and be comfortable with it. _(Was that a pang of jealousy he felt?)_ No one else had noticed or expressed concern, so Bull decided to dismiss the event and try to carry on with his own night. Cards were being dealt so he focused his attention on the game in front of him, looking for the usual tells from his group. Rocky would get talkative if he had a good hand, Skinner would sit still as a rock if their hand was shit and Stitches got a twitch in his cheek. It wasn’t until a few rounds later when he was out of pocket and had been teased mercilessly by Krem that he admitted he was off his game tonight. “It’s just the ale, Krem da la Krem” bellowed Bull, swatting at the smaller man. “Those Qunari mustn't have trained you well enough Chief!” mocked Krem. Ignoring the rebuttal, curiosity got the better of Bull and he allowed himself a glance over at where Lavellan was sitting, only to watch her being led by the hand out of the inn into the darkness by the mysterious stranger. 

There was a sway to her hips as she walked away, not just strong but sensual too. _Damn._

He was snapped back to the game infront of him as Dalish cheered loudly, celebrating a win and he joined in the laughter, distracted though he was. One of the barmaid’s, (Helena, was it?) caught his eye and winked. He contemplated taking her up on what he knew from experience was a blatant offer into her bed, but he was off his game tonight and felt uneasy. The game wrapped up soon after and Bull climbed the tavern stairs to his room alone, his knee aching and the wood underneath him groaning. From his bed, he stared up at the canopy of hide and willed sleep to come but he could feel a deep hunger pooling in his guts and a nagging sense at the base of his skull.

Wilfully ignoring the feeling, he eventually drifted off into darkness. The last conscious thought he was aware of being the image of a shock of white hair and the sway of muscular hips. 

\---

The next morning, Aldae woke alone in her bedroll, feeling unsatisfied, like an itch had only been partially scratched, the unfulfilling fumble managing an urge for now but not eliminating it entirely. 

\---

Cyris woke alone in his bunk, consumed (and, if he was being honest, _intimidated_ ) by memories of the white-haired whirlwind that had blown into his night like a tempest and disappeared soon after their sensational tryst. 

\---

The Iron Bull woke alone in his bed after a fitful night's sleep, warm under his blanket but painfully aware of the morning’s ‘situation’. Oh, to be able to visit a Tamassran right now.  
\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Lethallin_ : loved one  
>  _Nuvenin_ : as you say.


	3. i fell in love with the fire long ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we're on our way, to the fire, to a fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got away from me a bit, so is split in two, hopefully i should have the next part up soon. kudos and comments are appreciated <3

\---

There was a buzzing in Aldae’s guts. She was positively vibrating with apprehension and an undercurrent of excitement kept her from sitting still as she meticulously polished her shield in the Undercroft. Dagna had practically fainted when Aldae approached her for advice to equip her sword with a new, stronger rune and it had been a painfully awkward encounter but this was too important of a job not to prepare for earnestly. 

They were going dragon hunting.

Aldae remembered when Amas and herself were both young, clustered at the feet of the Keeper with the other children, listening to tales of their ancestors and ancient beasts. Later they’d play dragon-slayer, chasing one another through the woods, taking turns to be the big bad dragon and the heroic hunter, though the latter was a role Amas often shunned. Aldae took pride when she’d take down the larger children, waving her tree branch heroically until an elder dragged her off by the ear to finish her chores. After her jobs had been finished, she’d return to Amas, exhausted and drained, and he’d try to raise her spirits by whispering about future imaginary adventures hunting the great beasts. It had only taken about 20 years.

Amas had left Skyhold after only a few days of rest and had headed straight back out to follow up on rumours of red lyrium in the Hinterlands. He’d taken Varric, Dorian and The Iron Bull with him, but had soon sent word for her to join them. 

A raven had found her atop the roost’s roof, a small scroll tied to its spindly leg. 

_“My dearest halla-poop, time to stop sulking and come out to play. Remember the Keeper's stories? I promised you an adventure, I aim to deliver. Meet us in the far northeastern point of the Hinterlands. Look for the east gate archway. Scouts will be watching for you.  
Love,  
your rotten ram-turd."_

She folded up the note neatly and tucked it back inside her tunic. How many times had she read it since yesterday afternoon? She'd barely stopped preparations, save for a few scattered hours of sleep. As the first rays of morning light broke over the mountain tops, she nodded a polite goodbye to Dennet and led her hart out of the keep and onto the mountain path. 

\---

Bull could hear it's roars. He could feel the vibrations in the earth, and the crackle of embers in the air. He was pretty sure he was driving the others mad, the near constant pacing at camp, the stupid risk taking in battles. Thankfully the only skirmishes they'd fought were simple ones with bandits or small bands of red templars. 

Varric was tense too, the presence of red lyrium on the surface being enough to make the dwarf twitchy, his quips more cutting than charming as of late. He'd taken more evening watches than any of them, unable to sleep. His aim had never waivered though. 

Dorian had remained his usual suave self, and Amas clearly doted on the other mage. The pair were subtle in their affection, but any spy worth their salt could identify the clear vulnerability. Bad practice, he thought. Love was a distraction, regardless of however endearing it was to watch the two men. 

Bull had been loud in his displeasure about waiting. There were two clear goals. Destroy the red lyrium. To get to the red lyrium, kill the dragon. Yet the boss had them doing odd jobs around the valley. Looking for a ring. Killing some great bears. "We're waiting for reinforcements" Amas had said. "We don't _need_ reinforcements boss" He'd cried, but Amas had placated him with promises of glory if he could just be patient. 

The Iron Bull thought he was a patient man. Lay a trap for a spy, lay in wait as long as it took. Capture an informant, interrogate them as long as necessary. Practice for years with Krem to get his shield bash just right? Sure. But _this_ was taxing. The boss was clearly planning something.

The frustration in the camp was palpable. Adding an extra layer to the frustration, Bull’s mind felt clouded, distracted. Occasionally, strands from the boss’s white hair would fall out of its bun, catching the light and a stab of… something, would shoot through his gut. Longing, maybe? Not for the boss, but for the hand being led out of the inn into the cold, dark night. Envy, for the bastard on the receiving end of those strong hips and harsh eyes.  
_Vashedan_ , he wanted to kill something soon. 

\---

Aldae was an impatient woman. She knew the way to the Hinterlands from Skyhold, and had a decent idea of the meeting location. Regardless of Amas's offer of help in the way of helpful scouts, Aldae prefered to make her own way off of the beaten track. As the crow flies, where possible. She'd made it to the Crossroads quickly. Entrusting her mount to an Inquisition scout and threatening severe penalty should her hart return in less than perfect condition, she resolved to make the rest of the way on foot. It was quicker, and more importantly, quieter that way. She walked within the tree line, usually deeper, until it grew dark and then made a nest for herself in the tree’s canopy.

They'd done this as younglings. Building make-believe houses together in the tree tops, before pulling it all down again as the clan moved on. They'd jumped from branch to branch, and made beds from packed leaves and vines, sturdy enough to support them as they drifted off under starlight. Aldae only slept for a few hours before moving on, preferring to move under cover of night, and when the trees gave way to more mountainous terrain, she would climb instead. In her head, she could hear Amas chastising her for taking the treacherous route, but she preferred being quick and quiet. The sooner she reached her brother, the sooner they could take down this dragon. _Maker’s arse_ , they were going to kill a _dragon._

Caught in her own thoughts, a small pebble dislodged under her usually nimble feet. It slipped down the steep incline, eventually stopping by a small cluster of bushes. Realising her mistake, time slowed around her and she ducked down to hide, refusing to even let out a whisper of breath. Jagged rocks pressed into her knees painfully, as she strained to pick any noise out of the silence.

A dull, metallic thud. Wooden creaking. Gentle, cautious footsteps. 

“Who’s there?” came a raspy, agitated voice. She knew that voice. 

“Varric Tethras?” she replied anxiously from her hiding spot. There was a pause, stretching the silence further until the small sound of a strung bow being relaxed broke the spell they’d unwillingly fallen into. Aldae rose slightly, looking over the outcrop down to where the voice came from. Her eyes were already well adjusted to seeing in such darkness, and now she was more aware she could make out a short, squat form a short distance away. 

“It’s Lavellan.” she called gently. She rose completely, raising her hands in surrender before sliding down the hill, approaching the dwarf cautiously. “The Inquisitor requested I join you in the field.” 

Varric let out a haggard sigh, examining her tiredly. He had dark circles under his eyes and visible, deep creases in his brow. His posture was tense, unusual for the witty author and he kept his hand on his crossbow. Aldae finished looking him over. “You look like shit.” The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them. _Fenedhis._ This is why she kept to herself.

A sharp laugh snapped her from her mental chastising, she glanced back to the dwarf to see a small smile tugging his lips upward. “What a charmer! I feel like shit, I just saw a ghost. I only left camp to take a piss and nearly killed the boss’ sister. C’mon, let's get back.” He turned from her, starting towards a gap in a closeby rock formation. “Why were you even up there in the first place? These mountains can be treacherous.” He asked, head tilted back towards her.

“Not if you’re nimble.” She replied. In the moonlight, she could see him smirk. “Or a ghost….” he trailed off. Aldae heard him, squinting at the back of his head as she followed.

Together, they made their way to camp, carefully avoiding the warning runes that Dorian must have set up. Rounding a corner, the glow of a fire illuminated the bulky mass of The Iron Bull, staring into the blaze absentmindedly. 

\---

The Iron Bull stared into the flames of the campfire, keeping it stoked and enjoying the gentle warmth on his skin. A rustling in the distance alerted him to Varric returning from taking a leak. Through the flames, he watched as the form of the dwarf emerged from the darkness. Bull was not prepared for the pair of glowing eyes that appeared behind the smaller man, its tall frame skulking menacingly towards them both. He growled, reaching for his greataxe and starting towards Varric.

Looking alarmed, the dwarf raised his hands whilst crying “Whoa, calm down Tiny, it’s just me. I brought back-up!” This halted Bull’s aggressions long enough for the taller figure to move enough into the light for him to make out a flash of white hair and grey eyes. Well, _fuck._ He let his weapon drop to his side as they both moved closer to the fire. “Lavellan, you’re our reinforcements?” She met his gaze before nodding curtly, eyebrows knitted together, a hand on the pommel of her sword. He sat back down, rubbing his knee. Good, this meant they’d likely be taking on the dragon soon. His blood boiled thinking about it, the anticipation knotting in his stomach. 

Varric’s gaze flitted between them, silently acknowledging the tension in the air. “Don't wake the boss, he needs his rest. We'll need to be at our best tomorrow. Tiny. Charmer.” Lavellan’s eyes snapped towards him, looking almost offended, a frown emerging. He continued, oblivious. “I’m gonna turn in.” 

The dwarf disappeared into his tent, leaving the two in awkward silence. Bull observed her, standing stock still, hand still resting on the sword at her waist. "You can get some sleep, if you want. I'm sure you're tired from the journey. I'll stay on watch." He said, turning to look into the flames. There was no response from her for a minute, rather she moved to sit by the fire to the left of him on a log stump.

“Thank you, but I slept a few hours ago, before Varric found me.” She said, dropping her gaze to the fire as well. She removed her hood, releasing more ivory hair to be illuminated by the orange glow of the fire. The rest of her armour was tinted black, with dulled metal plating, designed to defuse light and make travelling unnoticed easier. The only colour he could see was a silky blue scarf tucked beneath her chest piece, and a scrap of similar fabric wrapped around her swords pommel. Similar to material that the Boss wore at Skyhold. Maybe she was sentimental when he wasn’t around? 

Lavellan pulled off the knapsack that had been strung across her back, and removed a neatly wrapped tool kit, wrapped in old leather and tied with frayed twine. She unrolled it, before laying it on the ground next to her, hands paused above it almost reverently. Unsheathing her sword, she began running a whetstone along its edges in a practiced technique that looked second nature. Her breathing fell in time with the motions and Bull recognised the relaxing of her features that he’d seen when he walked in on her fixing his roof.  
She had positioned herself on his blind side, so Bull had to tilt his chin to look at her. Smart. She’d know if he was staring. They sat in silence for a while, the fire burning down to almost nothing. As he moved to start rebuilding it, Lavellan, seemingly coming out her trance, stood abruptly and replaced her sword in its scabbard. Her ears twitched before stilling, and she turned to address him. “The Iron Bull. Could I take your weapon?” 

He regarded her, confused. Her conscious behaviour was almost like a Tranquil. All quiet and blank faced, though her’s seemed trained and purposeful, rather than the branded apostates typical emptiness. Lavellan noticed his hesitation, realising her bluntness. “Ah, I simply have some modifications that would improve it, for tomorrow, that is. Is that alright?”

Bull didn’t think he’d ever heard her speak this much before, her voice was gentle and steady, the Free Marches accent being more restrained than the boss’s, harder to place if he didn’t already know. Whilst he didn’t necessarily distrust her, it was always difficult to get him to part with his weapon. Swallowing his pride, (and dismissing the deeper wish to just _hear her talk more_ ) he handed over his great-axe. Her gloved hand brushed his skin, as she grasped the handle, managing it’s heft with ease. Sitting back down with it in her lap, she looked it over, giving it the same complete attention she had her own weapon. Tutting gently, she ran her fingers over one of the edges that he’d chipped when a blow glanced off a red templar’s armour and had bitten into a chunk of obsidian instead. 

Lavellan pulled off her greaves, the flames illuminating the scar-marred skin of her hands and forearms. She shifted her gaze down to the shaft, and after rooting around in her pocket, she pulled out what seemed like a small, green pebble. Ah, a runestone. She glanced up to meet his stare, confirming what he suspected. “A dragon-slaying runestone.” 

“You know what you’re doing, right?” Bull joked, eyebrow quirked, trying to ease the tension in the camp. 

She frowned, turning her gaze back to the weapon on her knees. “Of course I do, I made this.” 

Well. 

That shut him up. 

Bull had known that the Boss’ sister tinkered and spent time in the forge, but the axe he’d been using was magnificently crafted and he’d wrongly assumed that the Inquisitor had commissioned Dagna to make it. It had been a gift from the Boss, dawnstone gilding around the handle for decoration, a metal he’d mentioned liking months ago offhandedly. It was so thoughtful, it even had blood grooves specially engraved. _(‘Fullers!’ He heard Harritt yell, deep in his mind.)_

“It’s impressive, you have some serious skill” he said, conscious of the way she hunched over his axe further. She was fiddling with some delicate, thin tools, trying to embed the rune into the handle of his axe. Was that a faint blush on her cheeks? Or simply the warmth of the fire colouring her skin? The only acknowledgement she gave to his comment was a small, tight smile before pursing her scarred lips around a spare tool, hands too busy, nimbly fiddling with the axe shaft. 

His thoughts lingered on those lips, wondering what they felt like around that tool. What they’d feel like around his… 

“How’d you get that scar?” Bull blurted out, tapping his own upper lip when she looked up at him quizzically. Juggling the tools, she pulled the lockpick like tool from her mouth, fingers grazing the scar in question. “A fight. With shems.” she replied, meeting his eyes. 

“I’m sure you got them back.” he laughed, enjoying the way a small smile started to appear on her face, before her eyebrows furrowed and she looked down. “I did.” Looking back at him, she said, almost sadly “They were the first people I ever killed.” Bull watched as she withdrew into herself, not physically at least, but mentally. A blankness settled over her as she absentmindedly played with a flat-headed tool. 

He shouldn’t pry. He shouldn’t ask. But a hunger in his gut cried to just _know_ more about her. To try and unravel the person in front of him. Make sense of her, so he could make sense of his own thoughts. “What happened?” He paused, before adding “If you’re comfortable telling me, that is.”

“A botched mission into Ansburg. The idiots didn’t realise we were only spying on them to make sure they were safe to trade with. Instead, they thought we were stealing. Reacted accordingly.” She looked down to resume tinkering with his axe, focusing on the rune, stray hairs from her braid falling to the side of her face. “They got Amas. I hit them in the balls.” 

Bull smirked, enjoying the image of some self-righteous prick on his knees, clutching his groin as this magnificent warrior stood over him. 

“They punched me with one of those iron knuckle covers. Split the lip open. I was lucky. Amas got a dagger in the gut. I had to kill them for that.” Lavellan finished speaking, a coldness in her tone. Silence descended on the camp again, the fire suddenly seeming less warm. Bull thought that he should regret asking, but the chance to learn something more about the elusive woman in front of him was too tempting. 

Makes sense, he thought. She was fiercely protective of her brother, he wasn’t surprised they’d do anything for each other. The Chargers shared that loyalty for each other, it was familiar. A good thing to see.

Lavellan sighed softly, appraising the weapon on her lap affectionately, smoothing a hand over the worn leather of the handle, before rising from her seat. She handed the colossal weapon back to Bull, but there was still a shadow lingering behind her eyes. Sensing an opportunity to divert the conversation from such dark topics, he noticed another recent scar on her hand, a greeny, yellowing bruise, still healing. He nodded at it, before she could withdraw. “What about that one?” he asked. 

Seeing the mark he was referring to, she replied vacantly. “Oh, I was jealous of Amas, thought I’d give myself a mark too.” She smiled tightly.

The unexpected joke caught him completely off guard, and a loud guffaw burst from his mouth before he could even think of being quiet. Lavellan’s tight smile softened a little, a flash of pearly teeth poking through before she caught herself. “I missed the anvil, caught myself instead. It was stupid, The Iron Bull.” she explained. 

Bull chuckled heartily, he was enjoying her company. He’d had more of a chance _(an excuse, really)_ to really examine her, notice the way that her ears reacted to all the little sounds around them, the way there was a lock of hair that refused to stay in place, the way her eyebrows knitted together frequently, regardless of the task or conversation. 

“You can call me Bull, if that’s easier.” he said. He liked the way she said his name though, just the way her tongue poked through her teeth to form the _‘the’_ was captivating. She looked down at him, regarding him quietly, before turning away and heading back out towards the darkness. “Perhaps, The Iron Bull. I’ll be back before morning.” she said, before unceremoniously disappearing beyond the edge of camp.

He was left alone to dwell on the unanticipated events of the night, their new party member and the stirring of thoughts it had brought.

\---

Aldae sighed with relief as she let the cold air of the night embrace her. Her mind was running away with itself and she felt so twitchy, on edge, overstimulated. It felt like live lizards were running about in her stomach, so she’d considered it wise to depart and get some space. She wouldn’t go too far, she thought, she’d need time in the morning to upgrade everyone else’s weapons before the fight. Her feet carried her quietly through the brush for a while, before she found a suitably tall tree. It’s branches were sturdy and welcoming, the smell of pine under her fingers familiar. She found a comfy perch, reclined and stared up at the stars above her.

She could never sleep properly with a roof over her head. Not when there were so many constellations in the night’s sky to observe, or universes to imagine. Her mind drifted upwards, all the while, something deep within her gut pulled her back down to earth. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Vashedan_ : Qun curseword  
>  _Fenedhis_ : Elven curseword


	4. all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to kill a dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you'd think being off sick would mean I had more time to write, but this chapter was difficult. I've never written a fight scene before, or anything remotely M rated. Things start to heat up near the end, just be aware.

\---

True to her word, Aldae returned to camp just before the first light of morning. Amas was sitting in the same spot that The Iron Bull had occupied when she’d left, having taken over the watch in the twilight hours. The way his face lit up upon seeing her, sparkling eyes and a smile nearly splitting his cheeks, was enough to make her insides squirm. Her _lethallin._ “Aldae!” he cried, running over to her and throwing his arms around her. No matter how much time had passed, he always hugged her like they’d been separated for years. She returned the embrace, before pressing her forehead to his. 

“A dragon, Aldae, can you believe it! We’re going to fight a _real dragon!_ ” he whispered secretively, just as they had as younglings. 

“Amas, we’re going to kill a dragon.” she replied, noticing the almost imperceptible frown flash across his face. She was planning to address it before she heard rustling coming from the tents. 

“ _Amatus_ , have you seen my glove? I swear I left it next to the lyrium potions…” climbing out of the tent, Dorian trailed off, realising they had a new figure in their camp. “Ah, good morning, Lavellan.”

_Amatus._ Aldae looked pointedly at Amas, who had the good sense to blush, at least. They could discuss this later. Extracting her brother from her arms, she extended her hand and tried to keep her tone level. “Your staff, Inquisitor.” 

Despite the title, in that moment, with his doleful, sad eyes and hopeful smile, he still looked as though he was just her younger brother, too gentle, too kind, too loving. He handed his staff over willingly and she nodded, appraising it. She wasn’t as sure when it came to tinkering with magical weapons, but she’d taken notes from her discussion with Dagna and felt prepared enough. “Do what you need to do, _lethallin_ , I need to upgrade everyone’s weapons before we do this.” Her voice was quiet, only meant for Amas. She took her place in the same spot as the previous night, with her feet tucked underneath her in a cross leg position, looking almost like she was meditating. 

The camp woke up around her, till eventually everyone was awake, jovial preparations about the day’s plans lightening the atmosphere and leaving everyone in a good mood. All the while, she tinkered with runestones, re-wrapped leather grips with less worn leathers and sharpened all possible pointy ends whilst the party moved around her. She felt focused, clear headed, for the first time in a long time. 

\---

Bull had managed to get a few hours of restful sleep in before the sounds of people puttering about camp roused him out of his tent. Dorian had relit the fire and was cooking some rations, the salty smell of bacon enough to make Bull’s stomach rumble. Varric and Amas stood by one of the tables, seemingly talking about tactics for the day’s big event. The dwarf even looked less on edge than he’d been since they got here, the circles under his eyes looking slightly less dark. 

And on the tree stump, in the same position she’d been in before she disappeared into the darkness, was Lavellan. Shoulders hunched, back curved over, fiddling with Varric’s crossbow. The fact that he’d let anyone touch Bianca other than himself was a miracle, but Bull couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that Lavellan had returned. Of course, he had no reason to think she wouldn’t, she had said she’d be back. But the aloof elf seemed to always be on the edge of vanishing, yet here she was, present and absorbed in the work in her lap. Bull had half thought that last night was just a dream, a trick of a tired mind. 

And yet. 

She gave no indication she'd noticed his presence, other than a slight twitch of the ear closest to him. The other's seemed to be leaving her to her work, so naturally he gravitated towards food and then joined Varric and the boss, eager to get the days adventure started and _kill a fucking dragon._

\---

Aldae found herself stuck in her work, repeatedly fiddling with one of the crossbow's mechanisms, both fascinated and apprehensive. Her stomach was a knot of nerves and she realised she'd been done with the weapon at least half an hour ago, but had been tinkering for the sake of it. Caught in her head, she loosed the strung, _thankfully unloaded_ , bow accidentally, causing the weapon to jolt back into her chest. 

"Hey, careful with Bianca!" Varric turned from the table looking concerned, but he couldn't hide the smirk on his face. "Not many can handle her, don't take it personally Charmer." Frowning, she passed the weapon back to Varric before standing up and stretching, she'd been hunching over again and her back was complaining. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw The Iron Bull watching her try and ease the tension in her muscles, but of course, he was a spy, he saw everything. She was nothing special. 

Amas passed her a slice of bacon and she took a big bite, chewingly thoughtfully. Unspoken words passed between them. _“Are we done here?” - “Yes, nothing left to prepare.” - “Are you ready?” - “Are you?”_ A quick smile, a grip tightening around a weapon, a subtle shift of the shoulders. Aldae swallowed her food. They were ready.

\---

The Inquisitor filled the group in on the plan, making sure everybody was following the same strategy and had studied the maps of the nest for tactical advantages. Bull laughed gently to himself, as far as plan’s went this was essentially ‘hit the dragon to death before it kills us’.  
As the boss went over the retreat plan, ( _not that that would be necessary, Bull thought_ ) he spied the way that Lavellan’s posture tensed at the mere suggestion. It seemed she was adverse to the idea as much as him. 

They began the hike to Lady Shayna’s Valley. Their typical marching order was undisturbed by the new addition. Boss up in front, Bull behind him, then Pavus followed up by Varric. Lavellan practically disappeared once they left camp, preferring to take the high ground. She always stayed within earshot and was by the boss’s side almost instantly if he called, but especially within the tree line she was almost invisible. It seemed like a lot more effort on her behalf, but tactically he couldn’t fault it. If they were set upon by a big group of enemies, a surprise ally would turn the tables back in their favour. Not that that had happened, but it was good to be prepared. 

They reached the stone archway. The roars of the beast were louder now, the air had taken on a disgusting sulphuric stench. They made their way through, attempting stealth. The boss had moved ahead quietly, delicate footsteps seemingly floating above the earth. He moved a large chunk of brush out of their way before stepping forward. Straight into the nest of a waking dragonling. Amas froze, magic sparking from his fingertips but fizzling into nothing. Bull was about to sink his axe into its skull, before a bolt from Bianca beat him to it. They’d not been fast enough though, a woeful death cry escaped from the beast before it died.

Everybody was frozen in place, before the deafening screech of the mother dragon rang through the valley. So much for stealth.

Much faster now, they dodged and weaved around more dragonlings and the occasional terrified nug. Lavellan had rejoined the party long enough to push the boss off of his current trajectory, just as a fireball hit the space he would have been in. Flames licked up her armour, before a hurried flash of ice magic subdued the fire as she helped him off the floor. On they ran, heading towards a clearing they’d planned on their map as the best place to take on the beast. 

The beast circled them above, throwing endless fireballs. It’s roars awoke something in Bull’s heart, his blood was pounding furiously as his legs pumped beneath him. The grip on his axe was unyielding, the grey skin of his knuckles white under the pressure. They burst through the underbrush into the blindingly bright glade, and there in the center, ready to send another fireball at their heads, was the Ferelden Frostback. It raised its head to the heavens and released another thunderous cry that stunned them all into silence, it’s wings unfurling in a posturing display of dominance. 

Bull snapped out of his reverie faster than the others, before immediately rushing headfirst for the dragon. This was _everything_ , all-consuming. Quickly taking up his rear was Lavellan, a single minded fury in her eyes that was surely a reflection of Bull’s own. The others fanned out, purposefully keeping their distance and trying to find outcroppings of stone that could provide some cover if necessary.

Just like any other battle, Bull felt the snug blanket of a magical barrier wrap around him, just seconds before his axe made first contact with the meaty side of the beast. He heard the satisfying rip of flesh as he spotted Lavellan’s sword slashing at the underbelly and the noise only fueled his own ferocity. The Frostback screamed and swiped, narrowly missing them both before sending a blast of fire at Dorian, who ducked behind some partially destroyed mining equipment. In response, Amas and Varric launched their own ranged attacks, the bolts from Bianca wrapped in icy magic as they impacted the Frostback’s wing. The delicate membrane started to tear, enraging the monster. It snapped it’s jaws at Lavellan, who barely managed to bounce the impact off her shield, parrying with a jab from her sword that caught the beast just below it’s eye before dancing with unnatural speed underneath it’s belly and underarm where she was concentrating her blows. Focusing on the softer bits, and taking out the muscles connecting the arms so it couldn’t swipe at them. She was smart. 

She was also focused, every move was calculated and purposeful. Even though his blood lust, Bull’s vision was drawn to the way she expertly wielded her weapons, the concentration displayed freely on her face in the hard, downturned line of her lips, even the way her toes dug into the earth, further solidifying her stance. She didn’t clock the tail being whipped towards her though, as she focused her efforts on one of the dragon’s legs. It snapped against her back, dropping her instantly as it likely winded her. He heard the Boss yell and a fresh green glow wrapped tightly around her, as another powerful blast of ice hit the beast on it’s other side. The Frostback began beating its wings, causing a vortex of wind that threw him off his feet and started dragging the other’s towards the dragon’s snapping jaws. Amas had managed to hide behind an outcropping, whilst Varric deftly rolled out of the beast’s immediate radius. Dorian surrounded himself with protective magic and tried to gain some distance while Bull covered his retreat, a great bellow escaping his lungs as he taunted the beast. 

The beast turned it’s full attention to Bull, two sharp eyes glaring down at him before roaring defiantly at him. His heart pounded harder than it ever had in his life. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Smell the rotten, decaying meat on its breath. Bull felt his muscles groan as he swung his axe, fingers gripping the runes underneath the leather wrap. Faster than the beast had any right to be, it swiped at him with it’s less damaged arm, clawing down his shoulder to forearm and knocking the axe out of his hands as though it were nothing more than a toothpick.  
The weapon landed a short distance away, but getting there unarmed with a dragon that wanted to kill him was a death sentence. _Fuck the odds_ , Bull thought. He ran, ignoring the pain in his knee and the blood running down his arm. He reached the axe fast enough but turned to see it’s open maw flying towards him before he could raise his weapon. 

At the last second, the beast’s jaws veered off to the side and Bull could see what had saved him. Lavellan, like a vision from the cover of an adventure serial, had mounted the dragon and had plunged her sword deep into the muscle around it’s shoulder blade. It screamed in agony, the dense muscles in its neck spasming as it twisted around to throw her off. A resounding snap of lightning hit the dragon, backlighting her and giving her a fiery halo. _Goddamn._

Her sudden jump from the dragon, using her shield to bash it in the ribs as she descended, reminded Bull to _move_ , and he lunged at the distracted beast, cleaving an impressive wound in its neck. A bolt, courtesy of Varric, whizzed over his shoulder, penetrating deeper into the gash he’d just made. The Frostback swiped at him again, but he dodged. It was slowing slightly. The wounds they’d inflicted were taking their toll. Another swipe with his axe, his hit landing on the less plated space around it’s sternum. And another, taking out the tendons in its elbow. And another, just below its scapula. All landing, all causing copious amounts of blood to spurt out, further fueling his frenzy. The bite of ice magic chilled the air around him as he slashed at a partially frozen leg, causing splinters of flesh to flee the dragon’s body. Bull could hear Lavellan yell from the other side of the beast, rolling out of the way of its jaws before it fired another fireball, this time in Varric’s direction.

The blast took the dwarf by surprise and he threw himself behind some raised stones, crying out in pain whilst trying to put out the flames licking up his arm. Realising that Dorian and Amas were too enveloped in raining ice and lightning down on the beast, Lavellan sprinted towards Varric. The dragon took notice too, spraying a blast of fire that she barely dodged, sliding behind the cover and brashly shoving a healing potion into Varric’s ready grasp. He chugged it as she held her shield above them, trying to protect them before another hit from Bull distracted the beast long enough for them to escape safely from cover. She flew back into action, close to Bull but not enough to become a single target, as they carved into the dragon’s flank together. 

The Frostback cried out once again, was that a tinge of _fear_ in it’s screech? It took to the air, unsteadily, blowing Bull and Lavellan off their feet though she was faster to get back up and make chase. The dragon soared low around the valley, throwing fireball after fireball at them. They must look like no more than ants to it. Annoying, biting, persistent ants. The damaged wings were clearly struggling to carry it’s heft, and it landed near Amas before he had a chance to flee. Bull watched as the smaller man stared up at the dragon, almost reverently, not moving.  
Lavellan was sprinting towards him, slower than before, was she limping? 

The dragon reared back before Lavellan could reach it, flames bursting from its jaws directly towards the boss. He heard an enraged scream come from Lavellan, as a broad wall of ice shot up in front of Amas, deflecting the majority of the fire as the warrior closed the space and plunged her sword into any hide she could reach. The beast spun round to face her, its tail whipping and destroying what was left of the ice barrier, to reveal a now retreating Amas, throwing a barrier spell over his shoulder to protect his sister. She was fighting with more anger and venom than he’d thought her capable of.

He ran to join her in close quarters, feeling volleys of magic and crossbow bolts fly over his shoulders, the tension in the party at its peak. The dragon was being pummelled now, hemorrhaging blood from a particularly deep gash on its flank. It cried and hissed as Bull’s axe connected with its leg, he grinned as he felt the crunch of bone breaking from the impact. It swiped at him again, a heavy motion he evaded easily. However, he wasn’t expecting a second quicker strike that caught him in the torso, downing him. He pawed at his belt for a healing potion as his vision went fuzzy, but he could see the blurry, humongous skull of the Frostback looming towards him regardless. The sounds of battle around him got quieter and Bull could smell the stench of rotting meat again, steam from its nostrils tickled his arms. He reached for his axe but it was too late.

Lavellan’s sword penetrated it’s eye socket. It slid in an upwards motion, further into the beast's skull. He'd not even seen her appear. It’s tumultuous cry trailed off to nothing as it crumpled to the ground with a weighty thud, its skull landing unceremoniously next to Bull who just sat up, staring at it as his vision returned. 

The battlefield stilled. 

The silence seemed to drag, as they all took a moment to regain their breath. The joyous yell that escaped Bull’s lips was entirely unintentional, but once he started it was hard to stop and the rest of the party joined in. Bull watched as the boss tackled Lavellan to the ground in an eccastic hug, smiling as they laughed freely. Dorian and Varric ran over to them, both chuckling to themself and checking the others for immediate wounds. Amas extracted himself from Lavellan and hurled himself into Dorian who bashfully accepted the affections. The smaller man peppered kisses on the Vint’s face, who blushed and murmered something in the other’s ear. 

“You ok, Tiny?” Varric appeared on Bull’s blind side, appraising the bloody scene in front of them. Bull only nodded, swallowing down the knot of curious affection that had started to bubble in him. He slapped the dwarf on his back, before bursting into laughter again. “A _fucking dragon._ ” he chorlted, as Varric joined in chuckling, saying “Thought you were a goner a few times there”, to which Bull smirked and finally got to his feet, grabbing his axe. 

“How’s the arm?” he nodded at the singed armour around Varric’s arm. The dwarf shrugged it off. “It’d have been worse if Charmer hadn’t got to me with a healing potion.” he said dismissively, brushing at the ruined bit of fabric. 

The comment made Bull realise, he hadn’t heard any more noise from Lavellan since they’d been a laughing pile on the floor. With some shock he realised that she was still lying flat on the ground. Hands neatly folded over her stomach. Her white hair was sodden crismon from blood. She was still and serene and it scared Bull for a moment, thinking she was dead. But her toes were flexed up to the sky, tapping together gently and her chest was rising and falling. He looked to Amas who was paying her no mind, too consumed in fussing over Dorian. 

After no small effort, Bull managed to extract her sword from where it was lodged deep in bone and brain matter, before gently moving over to her. He towered above her, casting a shadow over her face. Her eyes, seemingly had been just looking up at the sky, shifted to meet his gaze steadily. 

"I believe this is yours?" Said Bull, holding out the sword towards her. The grin she gave him, white teeth poking out beneath blood spattered lips, was unexpected. She propped herself up on an elbow, reaching out the other hand for her weapon. 

Bull smirked, withdrawing the sword at the last second, replacing it with his hand. She frowned, a rivulet of blood settling in her eyebrow crease, but her eyes still shone. She grasped his forearm instead, still slick with dragon viscera, and he pulled her up effortlessly. The touch lasted a second more than he expected it to, before he passed the sword back to her and she examined it, looking between it and the head of the beast. Returning her gaze to him, she beamed at him. "Thank you, The Iron Bull." She moved towards the carcass, pushing her hair back from her eyes, unceremoniously smearing more gore across her face in the process. Unconsciously, her tongue flicked out past her teeth and dabbed at a spot of blood on her lips. Bull watched, intoxicated. Blood that had been racing around his body, fueling his muscles during the frenzy, started to pool in a different place.

Thankfully, she seemed oblivious as she gingerly walked past him, favouring her left leg, to appraise the beast up close. The boss joined her and they talked and laughed and scolded each other for stupid risks taken in battle. She approached the mouth and had Amas hold up the dragon's upper jaw so she could better inspect its teeth. Lavellan's hands constantly trailed over the scales of the beast, the horns, the claws. All the while, Bull's blood and mind raced. Chiding himself, he distracted his mind and focused on helping the party take what they needed for now. Later they'd find a brook or river that they could wash the gore off in, and Bull could take care of business. 

\---

The sun was mostly set by the time they'd set up camp, just upwind of a secluded brook. Amas sat by Aldae's feet, pouring as much restorative magic as he could muster into her trouble ankle. Healing magic wasn’t his speciality but it was better than strapping the limb and hoping for the best. In return, she was combing his hair and pulling it up into his usual bun. She picked at a bit of dried blood behind his ear that he'd missed. The Iron Bull was currently taking his turn bathing, but other than Aldae, the rest had gotten clean by now. Despite being one of the bloodiest, she was happier waiting till last if it meant that she could rest her sore ankle. 

Varric had joked about The Iron Bull 'taking his time', which earned him a punch from the larger man and a frankly, wicked grin. But he had been gone a while, the images of what he could _possibly_ be doing were driving Aldae to distraction. Amas swatted at her when she tugged at a knot accidentally. She swatted him back. "It is not my fault, you rotten ram-turd, that you didn't wash the blood out of your hair well enough." She murmered quietly to him, flicking him on the ear. He laughed loudly, looking out over the rest of the camp. Dorian had already retired to bed. Varric was still up, looking over some documents with a mug of ale in his hand. A small fire flickered, roasting some meats and a small pot of soup. It was almost as if they _hadn't_ killed a dragon today. Everyone was exhausted, but a vein of sharp excitement still ran through Aldae’s blood like lightning. She’d gotten the worst of the gore off with a few damp rags, but the metallic smell of iron and earth still lingered, making her mind race over and over the events of the day. She was on her second mug of ale at this point, a shame they couldn’t carry a tavern with them otherwise she’d have had a lot more by now. 

Amas was sipping from his own mug, staring into the fire. “She was marvelous, wasn’t she?” The words floated away, the flames casting a soft glow onto his pensive face. “She was.” Aldae replied. Amas kept his back to her despite her having finished his hair. “It was a shame we had to kill her.” He couldn’t keep the grief out of his voice, a sorrowful tone she knew well. He was such a sensitive person, hated killing for the sake of it, he didn’t even eat meat. She should have realised he might have had a hard time with the battle, even when they’d played as younglings Amas always avoided the role of hunter. “She had babies, Aldae” he murmured. She smoothed a hand over his hair, comfortingly. “I know, _lethallin_ , but she was causing problems for the townsfolk, and the babies will likely grow into big terrors themselves.” 

They were silent for a while before Amas turned to face her, his healing magic completely spent. He looked up at her with a gentle though tired smile. “You did good today, Aldae.” She dipped her chin, hoping some hair would hide the blush of her cheeks. He continued “You and Bull make a good team.”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, he was smiling cheekily, a mirth sparkling in his eye. Teasing her. Her eyebrows furrowed and she started to retort the best way she knew, a swift clip to the ear. He ducked out of the way, managing to avoid his cup spilling over and she was about to swipe again when they heard the loud footfalls of a familiar qunari approaching camp. Seizing her opportunity to finally bathe properly, she swallowed the last of her ale, swapped the mug for some fresh clothes and breezed past The Iron Bull, focused only on getting the blood out of her hair. She thought she heard Amas snickering behind her, probably making jests about her uneven gait thanks to her still painful ankle. She took a deep breath of fresh night air and made her way to the brook.

\---

The Iron Bull didn’t think he’d taken too long, but by the way that Lavellan had hurried past him he must have been too slow. In honesty, he had enjoyed the privacy, taken time to really reflect on the day and... enjoy himself. _Taarsidath-an halsaam_ , indeed. Unthinkingly, he turned to watch her leave, the somewhat unsteady steps causing her hips to wobble slightly. She disappeared in the darkness naturally, as though she’d always been a part of the landscape. He turned back to camp, reaching for his shoulder harness and shrugging it into place. Time for a drink. 

He pulled out his private flask, the one he’d packed when the boss told him they’d be going out to slay a dragon. Settling in a seat by the next to the fire, he took a long swig whilst absentmindedly rubbing his knee. He clocked the boss staring at him. Amas was blatantly observing him, a frivolity in his eyes and a small smile tugging his lips upward. Bull wordlessly offered him a swig from him flask, though he’d pretty sure the stuff would burn a hole through the boss’s gullet. Amas politely refused, still smiling. 

“Good day, Bull?”

It was Bull’s turn to smile widely. “The best, boss.” He took another swig. He couldn’t help but think that he was being toyed with somehow. But it _had_ been a wonderful day. He grabbed some of the food that had been heating on the fire, enjoying the savoury smell wafting up from his bowl before tucking in. It seemed like everyone else had eaten, saving a large portion for him. Another swell of affection, one he didn’t immediately push down. Rather, he reveled in it secretively, enjoying the unspoken accord of their group. 

A yawn from Varric dragged Bull out of his thoughts, the man seemed like he’d returned to his usual jovial state, having destroyed the last vein of red lyrium in the area on their trek out of the valley. Putting away his papers and draining his cup, Varric bid the two men goodnight before retiring to his tent. 

Amas was fiddling with some stitching that had split in his jacket, occasionally sipping from his small mug. Bull was relieved he’d finally been spared the man’s wordless appraisal and the odd atmosphere had shifted. “So, Bull, what specifically is it about dragons that the qunari find so interesting?” Amas asked, his lips pursed in concentration as he tried to thread some twine through a needle. Bull thought for a second. “Well, we consider them sacred. As sacred as we hold anything I suppose? We call them _Ataashi._ ”

“Ataashi?” replied Amas, testing the unfamiliar word in his mouth. 

“Yeah, _glorious ones_ , some of the wackier higher ups think that the Tamassrans mixed in some dragon blood to our genetics long ago, giving us the horns, y’know?” Bull couldn’t help laughing at the idea, but he didn’t know the first thing about science so who knows? There was a reason he was Ben-Hassrath, not a well-read member of the priesthood.

“Ah, yes, because the qun decides who you mate with, yes?” continued Amas. Bull took another swig from his flask. He’d kept the maraas-lok at Skyhold, this liquor being slightly less likely to spontaneously combust when jostled. “It’s easier that way.” he shrugged, enjoying the burn of the alcohol down his throat. Burning, reminding him of the fight. “Boss, did you _hear_ the way it gurgled before it spat fire at us? The way the ground _quaked_ when it landed?”

“She was magnificent.” Amas muttered, mostly to himself.

“Yeah, she was.” Bull responded, basking in the memory of the day. The small man looked at him, something unspoken shining in his eyes as a grin spread across his face, the sewing forgotten in his lap. The Inquisitor promptly stood, looking smug like he had some secret knowledge inaccessible to Bull. 

“Goodnight, Bull. Sleep well.” Amas said, a sense of mystery shrouding him as he glided off to the tent he was sharing with Dorian. Bull spied the softening in his eyes as he glanced the Vint sleeping through the open tent flap, before disappearing behind it himself. Bull was once again alone with nothing but his flask and his thoughts.

\---

Aldae assessed the shallow brook, noticing a small waterfall about 5 foot high. It was so much more than she could have asked for. Stripping off her clothes and throwing them on the bank, she trudged through the water, revelling in the cold, refreshing chill. Undoing her hair from it’s matted braid, she sat under the pouring water. The pebbles underneath pressed into her skin, uncomfortable but ignorable. Sat down like this, the water flowed just below her breast line. 

A sigh escaped her lips as she massaged her scalp. The sigh turned to a grimace when she started trying to detangle her hair, followed by a string of murmured profanity. After dealing with the worst of it, she turned her face to the flow of water, just letting it cascade over her. She was starting to feel clean again. One thing she would give the shems, the baths at Skyhold were _divine._ But she was used to getting clean where she could after the many years of travelling with her clan. 

She ran a soaked rag over her arms, the rivulets leaving clean trails amongst the grime. She took extra time wiping over her sore ankle, checking for swelling or excess bruising. Finding it acceptable, she travelled upwards. Cleaning her calves, rubbing over her knees, brushing over her thighs where her vallaslin marked her for June. She was a mess of bruises and shallow cuts that she’d refused to let Amas fuss over. A dark purple bloomed from around her lower back, around her belly and travelling up towards her breast. She ran a finger over it, hissing gently from the sting. Still, the gentle brush over her nipple caused a bud of warmth to reawaken in her gut. _Now was not the time..._ Although.

“If not now, when?” Aldae growled quietly to herself. The hunger in her gut had only been muffled by her unfulfilling tryst with that soldier from the tavern a few days back. Her other hand wandered up her torso, cupping her other breast. The more attention she paid it, the more heat arose in her, fighting against the chill of the river. Fingers travelled downward, pale and scarred, highlighted against the deep purple bruise. Her fingertips were rough and calloused from the years of forging and climbing trees, but it still felt gratifying when they dipped below the water, parting her lower lips. It was easy to imagine the fingers weren’t hers….

_No._

Her eyes had fluttered closed without her consent. She snapped them open, back to her senses. She splashed some of the freezing water into her face and tried to shake herself out of her daydream. Trysts with a nobody were fine, but imagining secret scenario’s with a member of her brother’s inner circle? _A self-confessed spy?_ Aldae didn’t do ties. Aldae certainly didn’t do _crushes._

She lay down beneath the gentle current, praying it would wash away her embarrassment, if not her entire existence. Eventually, she had to come up for air. She felt cold, empty, unfulfilled.

_Fenedhis._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lethallin: loved one  
> ataashi: glorious ones  
> fenedhis: elven curse  
> amatus: tevinter term of endearment


	5. she burns like rum on a fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A busy tavern was always a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time round, but it's heavy on the angst. TW: panic attack.

\---

“Kremsicle! Get your chief a drink! You’re looking at a verified _dragon slayer!_ ” 

The door to the tavern burst open, silhouetting the towering form of The Iron Bull. It was evening when they made it back to Skyhold, the courtyard was devoid of life other than the occasional hurried servant. It was quiet, until the qunari arrived and the Chargers erupted into cheers at the sight of their mighty leader. He bounced in joyously, greeting all the friendly faces, patting some shoulders, winking at the bar maids. The rest of the Hinterlands party followed him through the door, albeit quieter. Everyone was eager for a drink before getting sleep in their own beds for a night or two. 

Someone shoved a pint of into his hand, which Bull accepted with a pleased cheer. He took up a place at the bar, grinning at Cabot who looked as sour as ever. There was a fire in the hearth, Maryden was singing, the familiar atmosphere was comforting. Amas followed, dragging Dorian and Lavellan by a hand each. Lavellan broke off quickly, as usual and disappeared into a darker, quieter corner. Dorian and the boss joined him at the bar, trading quips and reminiscing about the best moments of the battle.

The night progressed, the tavern getting louder and rowdier. Smiling faces, dancing couples, the sweet sound of someone groaning after losing their day's wage at Wicked Grace. Bull was content. 

\---

Amas dragged Aldae by the hand, tugging her into the tavern. She’d agreed to join him, but wasn’t eager to stay if the tavern was busy. Thankfully, when they entered, it wasn’t too bad, but she still dropped his hand after a gentle squeeze, finding a secluded corner to enjoy her bottle of wine. Amas and Dorian, still hand in hand, joined The Iron Bull at the bar. She smiled tenderly, watching them laugh and joke together. It was better for everyone if she stayed on the outside, just looking in. Her awkward demeanour and brash manners rattled people. Though, she had made The Iron Bull laugh, that night before the battle... He was likely just humouring her. Aldae took a swig from her wine, and settled further into her seat.

As the night wore on, more people piled into the tavern after the long day. The dance floor was crowded with revellers, enjoying the music and beer. She was near the end of her bottle, and finding the increasing noise to be overwhelming, Aldae decided her night was over. Flipping a coin to a barmaid, a familiar figure appeared in her periphery. She’d made it through the door, before Amas had grabbed her by the hand, pulling her back in.

“Join us, Aldae! Dorian and Bull are arguing about Tevinter beliefs about dragons. You’d love it.” He smiled so charmingly, he was almost convincing. She didn’t respond, other than to raise an eyebrow and give him _that_ look. 

“Please, Aldae. The night is young!” _Creators_ , he had her wrapped around his little finger. She stole a glance over his shoulder, back to the bar. Her heart jumped to see The Iron Bull looking back at her, a grin on his face and a cup in his hand, raised towards her.

Noticing the momentary hesitation, Amas tugged her towards a spare seat at the bar. Her feet moved without permission. He carefully guided her into the stool next to the qunari, sitting beside her, giving her hand a squeeze of his own before letting go. She stared at the countertop, sure that the tips of her ears were burning.

“Here Lavellan, have a drink.” The Iron Bull said, placing an empty mug infront of her and pouring a clear liquid into it from a flask she’d never seen before. Desperate to busy her hands, lest she start twirling her hair like some lovestruck child, she grabbed the mug with both hands. She took a sniff. It smelled like the water they used in the forge to cool the iron, muddied with flecks of metal and dirt. Not at all enticing. Staring at the back wall, she took a big gulp.

_Creator’s arses, set on fire and step on thorns, andraste’s saggy tits ---!_

Aldae forced herself to stifle the cough. She was likely turning blue with the effort, but handling awful liquor was a point of pride. 

The Iron Bull laughed boisterously, as she tried to unscrew her face. He poured more liquid out into his own cup. She offered her mug to Amas, who just laughed in her face. 

“Thank you but Bull already tricked me with that deathly stuff. I’ll stick to wine.” He leaned into Dorian’s arm, looking tipsy but very content. She glared at him, trying to seem threatening, but he clearly wasn’t convinced. The Iron Bull wordlessly offered her more, which she accepted, trying to ignore the first cup still burning acidicly inside her guts. 

“Nice one, you took that like a champ, Lavellan” he barked, sounding amused. She managed a stiff smile at him, aiming to take this one a bit slower. On her other side, Amas prompted the conversation to begin again, and she sipped the unnamed drink. There was a lot of back and forth about ‘old gods’ and ‘descendants’ that she didn’t follow, struggling to catch their voices over the din in the tavern. 

“Doesn’t the fact it’s practically a god to you make it _worse_ that you killed it?” Amas’s voice raised above the racket in the inn. 

“It’s _like_ a god, in raw power, but it’s not actually a god.” replied The Iron Bull. His deep voice rumbled over her head as she stared down into her mug. 

She turned to look pointedly at Amas. “It’s still just an animal, Amas. A huge, powerful one but a beast nonetheless.” 

He looked dejected, mumbling “A beast with babies...” 

Aldae sighed, frustrated. “Amas, it was chaos. Raw, unbridled chaos in the form of a beast, that would have killed you without a second thought. We didn’t kill it for fun.” 

“It was fun, though.” The Iron Bull quipped from behind her, making her unexpectedly snort into her mug. She tried to cover it up by downing the rest of the liquor. It hurt her throat slightly less this time, though she was starting to feel fuzzy and very, very warm. He waved his flask in the direction of her mug, she nodded trying to avoid his gaze. 

“I simply can’t fathom how you take so much pleasure from nearly dying. Truly, it boggles the mind.” Dorian sniped, gently rubbing circles on Amas’s back. 

The Iron Bull huffed. “And I can’t fathom how you move in that skirt of yours,” before topping up his and Aldae’s mugs. 

Amas chuckled as Dorian bristled next to him, a gentle hand on the other man’s knee, calming him before he could launch into a retort. Looking down at their empty mugs, Amas started to stand from the bar. 

“I think it’s best we take our leave for the night before we reignite a war, good night you two.” He placed an unsteady kiss on Aldae’s cheek, as she moved to leave as well. He grabbed both her hands, looking sleepy but retaining a brazen gleam in his eyes.

“No, no, don’t end the night early on our behalf! Stay, you still have _maraas-lok left._ ” He guided her back to sitting as she gave him a death stare, silently promising worse than the hangover he might have tomorrow. But she didn’t audibly protest, worried that she’d insult the qunari who had turned to bid goodnight to the men. 

They disappeared into the sea of bodies, hands entwined. The inn had filled up even more, dancers moving frivolously around and around each other. The flow of bodies made her feel dizzy. She turned back to the bar. _Maaras-lok, huh?_

She drank some more, it was almost palatable at this point. Next to her, she heard The Iron Bull say something, though it was lost in the din. Her head felt somewhat detached from her body, so she gripped the mug tighter. Turning to him, trying to focus, she asked him to repeat himself. 

“I said, what did you think of the Frostback?” 

He’d leaned in closer so she could hear better, casting a shadow across her face. Thank the creators, she must have been flushed. Taking a moment to breathe, she replied thoughtfully. 

“She was magnificent.” 

He didn’t reply, so she continued, caught in the memories. “She was terrifying. In the best way. But Amas was wrong. It’s good that it’s dead, that much uncontrolled rage let loose is dangerous.” A twinge of guilt flashed through her that she quickly dismissed. 

“I agree. That’s what the qun teaches anyways, taming nature, bringing order out of chaos. All that good stuff.” He laughed into his mug. “It was perfect.”

She smiled at him tightly, reminiscing.. “Perfect? It nearly ate you.” 

Realising she could have very much just insulted his capability, she dropped her gaze back to the bar, feeling like an idiot. His chuckle was a surprise, and he retorted. “Hey, it nearly ate you too.” 

Glancing back to him, Aldae noticed the bandage on the arm furthest from her. Nodding at it, she asked, “how’s it doing?” She remembered watching as the dragon had slashed from his shoulder down, knocking the axe out of his hands, and the fear and rage that had burned in her. She downed the rest of her drink. 

He shrugged, moving the limb gingerly. “I’ve had worse. It’ll make a good scar.” A small smile. They sat quietly, before he continued. “How’s the ankle?”

She was about to reply when a stumbling reveller bumped in her, knocking her into the bar with a thud. A garbled apology was thrown her way before they shuffled off. Taking a deep breath and trying to still the world that had started swimming around her, she readjusted herself in her seat. The Iron Bull was looking over his shoulder, throwing a nasty look at the oblivious drunk. Turning back, he topped up her cup with permission.

Her ankle had been problematic ever since it had been crushed during the explosion at the conclave. It was fine to bear weight, but the line between mild discomfort and pain was one she pushed regularly. Right now, it was throbbing, though the pain had been muffled slightly from the booze.

“It’s fine.”

They sat in awkward silence. Aldae could feel her heart racing, feel the heat radiating from the fire. Or was that from him? Their arms, resting on the bar, were not far from touching. She wanted to pull away, but the bar was so packed, there was already someone pushing forward on her other side, calling out to Cabot. The bard’s lute was being drowned out by the rowdy patrons. Was The Iron Bull speaking? Had someone stoked the fire even more? His lips were moving but Aldae couldn’t understand. He was reaching a hand towards her, a frown on his face. 

Before his hand made contact with her arm, something else thudded into her back. In a swift motion, she dismounted the stool, withdrew the dagger she kept hidden in her greaves and spun to confront her attacker, the room swimming around her but her focus was unshakeable. 

A terrified servant with startled eyes and spilled drinks was staring back at her, trying to back away from the madwoman with the weapon. 

Her heart was pounding, the panic in her chest bubbled up higher and higher, spilling out of her mouth in a single whisper. 

“Cole.”

\---

She’d been right there. The Iron Bull was half stood, half sat in his stool at the bar. 

Lavellan had been right there. 

He ran over the events of the last minute or so in his head. They’d been talking. She’d been bumped into once, no, twice. She’d gotten quiet, just before the second bump. Ignoring him? No, the way her grip had tightened around the mug, now forgotten on the bar, was different. Had he given her too much maraas-lok? But she'd been handling it well, and had still drank a lot less than him. He’d seen the pulse point on her wrist, freed from her gauntlet when they got to Skyhold, pulsating intensely. The light had caught a thin sheen of sweat on her brow that he’d not noticed till she spun around. And the viciousness with which she’d held the dagger to the servant girl, however briefly, screamed of an animal backed into a corner, panicking. 

Panic. _Of course._ That explained the physical reactions. But she’d disappeared. Taken one step, another step, then _gone._ Into the throng of bodies, but not far enough to vanish when he was specifically looking for her. Someone had passed by her, interrupting his line of view for all of a second. 

He scanned the crowd, not noticing anyone looking suspicious or unfamiliar. The usual faces, soldiers, servants, stable hands, just looking for a release at the end of the day. Plain clothes, an Orlesian mask or two. One of them had been wearing a hat, the shadow falling low over their face. A nondescript, wide brim hat. 

Oh. 

Oh, _Cole._

\---

“Loud. Loud, jostling, too many bodies. Pushing. Pulling. Clinging hands. Gone gone gone _gone_ someone grabs me -”

“ _Cole._ Can you take it?”

“Only some. Fingers grip too hard. Smoke in the distance. Loud _loud_ loud, a child screams.”

“ _Cole, please._ ”

“You’ll still remember in the morning. His skin, grey and close. _It was perfect_ , he said. No room to move. Nowhere to go, _nowhere to hide._ Fire, closing in. Dragons breath on my face. Blood grooves. _Spinning, spinning loud._ ”

She was sitting on the cold ground, knees tight to her chest, back pressed to a wall covered in ivy. Cole was hunched next to her, rocking on his heels. She shouldn’t be doing this to him. But he could take the hurt, make her forget for a bit. Ever since Denerim, she’d hated crowds more than anything. No child should be left alone, with their infant sibling nonetheless, to navigate through a city of people who hate them on principle. The marketplace had seemed so vast, so busy, so apathetic. The tavern had felt so similar in that moment, the atmosphere changing from friendly to hostile so suddenly, an emotional whiplash toying with her brain.

Her pulse was still fast, her breath ragged as she tried to remember the breathing techniques that Amas had taught her. Her vision was blurred, she wasn’t sure how Cole had gotten them both to the secluded corner but she wasn’t complaining. The cool air was making the pain in her head more vivid, but better that than the smothering heat in the tavern. 

Aldae held her head in her hands as tears threatened to spill. She’d made such a _fool_ of herself in front of The Iron Bull. She’d take the hangover, the fuzzy memories, the chill in her bones from sleeping outside, she’d take it all over being stuck in _this_ moment right now.

“Do it, _now._ ”

\---

Aldae woke in her hidden corner of the castle, bedroll bunched around her uncomfortably. Her head was aching, her tongue stuck to the inside of her mouth, dryness like sand spreading down her throat. Daylight streaming in through the ruined stone highlighted a note, lying next to her. 

_‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t take it all.’_

Oh, Cole.


	6. sit and watch the sunlight fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more tentative steps are taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a bit longer than a week! Back to work means less time to write. Thank you for the positive feedback so far, comments and kudos are hugely appreciated.

\---

A brisk wind was rolling over the battlements. Two figures were leaning against the stone, looking out to the mountains. They were close, but not touching. One, a lean elf with long white hair that was loosely braided over her shoulder. The other, harder to focus on, looked to be a tall human male, his hat pulled low over his eyes. 

It had been a couple of days since the incident in the tavern. Aldae had taken some time to herself, keeping busy in the Undercroft, or the stables, or even attempting to tend to the gardens of one of the forgotten courtyards. It was a pointless task, she couldn’t even grow grass if she tried, but it kept her on the move. 

She’d been sitting on a solitary bench, stretching the muscles in her back when a sparrow had landed on a bush near her. She watched it, preening its feathers, staring back at her with its beady eyes. It flew up into a nest, built into the branches of a tree that she’d barely regarded. It gave her an idea.

She found Cole on the battlements and moved to stand by his side. He didn’t seem to acknowledge her, but she wouldn’t have been able to see him if he didn’t want her to. 

“I’m sorry, Cole.” 

She took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have had you take on my pain, that was cruel and unfair of me.” She risked a glance at him. 

“Cold stone reaching skyward. Muddied fingers. The hart, happy to see you. It missed you.” Cole mumbled, fingers fiddling with a fringe of leather. 

Aldae sighed. “Thank you, Cole. I was still wrong. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“But I helped?” he asked. 

She nodded. 

“Then it doesn’t hurt.”

Affection swelled in her chest for the confusing entity next to her. Cole had always seemed drawn to her, for reasons she couldn’t understand. She’d found him disturbing at first, almost irritating. Irritation had given way to confusion, which had merged into curiosity. Curiosity had morphed into a strange tenderness towards the spirit boy. A spirit of compassion, she’d overheard Solas say once. 

Aldae sighed to herself. “Here. Take these.” She passed a small pouch to him, examining him with his downturned eyes and sallow cheeks. His sandy hair covered much of his face, but she thought she spied his mouth shape a small ‘o’. 

He played with the ties of the pouch, holding it open reverently. 

“Black eyes. Small hearts beating in fragile homes. The tree is dead but they are not.” He whispered, words getting lost on the breeze. A few seeds from the open pouch caught the wind, getting blown away before Cole put the bag away. “A long way to travel to be new,” he muttered.

“There’s a sparrow nest in one of the upper courtyards. You can feed them if you like. It’s quiet, if you need some peace.” Aldae resisted the urge to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. She wasn’t sure he was even corporeal, at least not all the time. Looking back, she admired the shine of snow on the mountain peaks in the distance. The kitchen staff were making stew, the smell of roasting turnips and carrots wafting their way. 

“Their songs are simpler. Not twisted like roots but reaching like branches.” 

She smiled at him. She was awful at interacting with people. But maybe that was why she liked Cole, he wasn’t a person. Not really. She turned to reply, finding only an empty spot where he’d once been. Her smile faltered.

\---

Bull stood on the bridge connecting Skyhold to the outside world. The parchment pinched between his fingers fluttered in the wind. It was always cold on the mountain top, but it was getting colder. The familiar letters of his first language were neat, impersonal on the page. Right now, this was the most tangible link to the Qun he had. And it could so easily fly out of his hand, stolen by the wind. 

He hadn’t told the boss yet. He hadn’t even told Krem. Red probably knew. 

Which meant he had to say something. Why was he reluctant? His people and the Inquisition, joining forces, it was miraculous. He should be happy. The smell of stew, carrots and tarragon, was carried on the breeze. He thrust the note in his pocket. He had things to do.

Bull climbed the many, many steps up to the rookery. The discussion with Leliana was tense, the niggling questions she slid his way revealed her disbelief. He left the parchment with her, knowing he’d hear more later, though neither doubted its validity.

A messenger found him later with confirmation. His brain felt scrambled, so he fell back on the most reliable method of regaining composure.

“Come on Krem! I’m working my ass off to get you to see that move!” Bull yelled, over the clashing of shields.

“You’ve still got plenty of arse left, Chief!” retorted Krem, sweat pouring from his brow. 

Hitting things made everything clearer. Bull had filled his second-in-command in on the basic details over their sparring match. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the situation, but training with his boys was always grounding. 

A soft voice cut through the focus he had been building. "Leliana sounded very foreboding, should I be scared, Bull?"

The Inquisitor was leaning against the tree, just outside the tavern. He was dressed in his plain clothes, a green embroidered tunic and black leggings. A belt with many small bags attached was slung around his waist. 

"Hey boss, how's it going?" He called back nonchalantly. To his right, Krem took an unsuccessful swing with his shield that was easily deflected. Bull growled, retaliating with an easy swipe at the undefended man. He stumbled back, before standing to attention upon seeing the boss. “Uh, your worship.”

Amas smiled, though a hint of cringe at the title flashed across his features. “You needed to talk to me?”

Time to lay it out. “So. The Ben-Hassrath have been reading my reports, they don’t like what they’re hearing about Corypheus and they certainly don’t like red lyrium. They’re extending an offer. A potential alliance.” Hearing himself speak the words out loud gave them a weight, a heaviness that he’d been expecting. 

Amas paused thoughtfully. He was easy to read, curiosity and a hint of apprehension was clear on his face. “That sounds interesting, and beneficial. What exactly would it entail?”

“They wouldn’t have said alliance if they didn’t mean it. Naval support, more Ben-Hassrath reports, Qunari soldiers pointed at the venatori. This could be a major boon to the Inquisition, boss.” Bull replied. 

“And what would the Inquisition need to do to secure this alliance?” said Amas. He was trying to put on his best diplomatic mask, but Bull knew his tells at this point. 

“They’ve turned up a massive red lyrium smuggling operation on the Storm Coast. They can send in a dreadnought, but an army arriving via land would tip off the venatori. So they’re proposing a small force to take them out. You, the Chargers, maybe some back up, deal with the ones on land. They’ll take out the ship at sea.” Bull watched the boss process the information. His brows were furrowed, eyes downcast before snapping up to look at Bull.

“How do you feel about this, Bull? You don’t seem too happy?” The concern in his face was plain to see, as Krem excused himself to get some water. 

“No, I’m good, boss. I’m just uh… used to them being,” he waved a hand, “ _over there._ ” 

“I thought the point of the Qun was to spread across the world?” Amas replied.

Bull sighed to himself. “Yeah, I just never thought I’d live to see it. Don’t get me wrong, the Qun is a good life for a lot of people, but some people here wouldn’t be able to adjust. At all.” Placing the shield next to a training dummy, he continued, “I suppose it’s not like we’re converting though… we’re combining forces. Bah, it’s good. We’re good, boss.”

Amas looked over the courtyard, seeming wise despite his years. “Let’s do it.” Turning back to regard Bull, he nodded. “The Inquisition would benefit from the alliance.”

“Great. I’ll talk to Cullen and Red, we’ll get everything set up. Let me know when you’re ready to head out.” 

The boss gave him that classic, wide smile before departing, dragged away on more official business, leaving Bull alone with his thoughts.

On his way back to the tavern to get some water, his thoughts were interrupted.

“They hate the song it sings, even though they don’t hear it. Trespassers. Tama says _it’s for the best, imekari._ ”

A fleeting sense of nostalgia tugged at his heart, to hear the term. An exaggerated sigh left his lips. “Hi, Cole.”

The spirit was sitting on the ground, where the Inquisitor had been standing. He was playing with a small branch in his hand. “Spreading roots, taking hold. Iron whales crossing the sea. Does this mean you’ll get your bananas, The Iron Bull?” Cole’s head tipped sideways, inquisitively. 

A laugh escaped Bull. “Hopefully, kid. Hey, whilst you’re here.” He approached Cole, squatting down so he wasn’t towering over him. “What exactly did you do to Lavellan, the other night, in the tavern. Is she ok?” 

The incident hadn’t been far from the front of his mind for days. She hadn’t been back to the tavern, though that wasn’t surprising. Bull had kept his eyes peeled for her since then, in the courtyards, in the halls, the forge, he’d even swung by the library, earning him a skeptical look from Dorian. But no luck. 

“Smothered, choking. She was drowning in people. I helped.”

Bull’s eyes narrowed, concern creeping in. “Okay Cole, but sometimes when you say ‘helping’ you mean ‘I killed them’.” 

“I killed the hurt in her. But it comes back, hands creeping in.” Cole whispered, looking past Bull towards the courtyard. 

Standing, Bull followed his gaze. As if summoned by the spirit, he watched as Lavellan descended the steps by the inn, passing through the open space and heading down the stairs towards the makeshift marketplace and stables. She was wearing a short, hooded cloak and a basic shift, would easily pass as just another servant if it wasn’t for the flash of white hair peeking out under the material. She hadn’t seen him, moving hastily with eyes set straight ahead.

Cole forgotten behind him, Bull hurried after her. 

She was halfway down the stairs before he was close enough to call out without raising his voice too loud. “Lavellan, wait up!”

She spun around, wobbling slightly on her bad ankle, her features trained into a passive mask. “Ah, The Iron Bull. Can I help you with something?” Her voice was measured, controlled. 

He descended a few more steps so he was more at eye level with her, rather than looming over her. “No, I just wanted to check in. Make sure you were okay after…” He trailed off, she wasn’t an idiot. She knew what he meant. She was always a guarded person, but he could see another wall going up behind her grey eyes. 

“Ah, yes. I’m sorry... about that. That was,” she paused, “strange. I hope I didn’t ruin your night.” 

He frowned. “Lavellan, you didn’t… ruin anything.” She moved against the wall, allowing a merchant climbing the stairs to pass by her. He was tempted to close the gap, but kept his distance. 

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “That’s kind of you to say. Thank you for the _maaras-lok_.” His stomach twinged to hear the qun word come from her mouth. She moved to carry on her way, nodding goodbye to him.

He realised that his all-consuming thoughts about the Qun and the Inquisition and what this meant for him, had actually ceased briefly whilst he’d been talking to her. Wanting to distract himself for just a bit longer, he called out to her as she was leaving.

“I still have some left, if you're interested?”

She turned around, more careful of her ankle this time. Her eyebrows were knit close together. “A tempting offer but, I don’t think that’s a good idea, The Iron Bull. The tavern isn’t…” she didn’t finish her sentence, looking awkward. Her hands had moved from her sides to tug at her hood slightly. 

“It doesn’t have to be the tavern.” He offered, with a smile. “The battlements, above the main garden?”

She returned his smile with one of her own, though it was smaller, more reserved. “I have duties to attend to. The harts need cleaning and feeding, the quartermaster has some requisitions that need sorting.” 

Bull felt his heart drop slightly. When had it risen, catching in his throat? 

To his surprise, she continued. “I can meet you later?” There was a gleam in her eyes, one he recognised from when she made the joke about the bruise. 

He nodded, still smiling. “Sounds good.” 

She turned away again, descending the stairs quickly and heading under the bridge towards the stables. Bull watched her leave, getting absorbed into the flow of pedestrian traffic that filled Skyhold. The grin on his face stuck around, even after more training with Krem. It only faded during the meetings with Cullen and Red, the thoughts that had been consuming him earlier returning full force.

\---

Aldae rung out the damp rag in her hands before running it over her hart’s face. He snorted, the breath tickling her arms as she held his head in place. She cleaned some gunk out it’s eye and he bayed at her happily. It was a simple creature, proud and regal. Tending to him was a simple task, helping her clear and focus her brain whilst keeping her hands busy. Her mind slowed, the outside world quietened. 

“Ah, Blackwall! I’m glad I found you, we discovered a Grey Warden artifact in the Hinterlands!”  
Amas strolled into the stables. He spotted Aldae and smiled widely at her, whilst strolling up to the warden, seated at his workbench. She watched as the older man glanced up from his project.

“Ah, Inquisitor. Thank you. Would have liked to be there.” 

Aldae balked. The _gall_ of him. As if her brother wasn’t doing enough for these damned shems, carrying out any personal request regardless of time or effort required. She cleared her throat aggressively, drawing the attention of both men. She sent her cruelest death glare towards Blackwall who had the good sense to look sheepish, atleast. 

She continued tending to her hart until Amas appeared at her back. 

“You’re too harsh sometimes, Aldae” he murmured over her shoulder.

"You're too kind, constantly. You give so much, Amas." She raised her voice just enough for the warden to hear her before continuing, "And people are ungrateful for your efforts." 

"It all counts towards the end goal. That's what I'm focused on." 

Aldae heard the tinge of wistful sadness in his voice. She reached a hand behind her to where he stood, his own hand meeting hers for a supportive squeeze. 

"Go, go get some rest, _lethallin._ " She threw a quick smile over her shoulder. 

"Oh, whilst I remember! Can you come back out in the field? We have some important business to attend to on the Storm Coast. I have a feeling that I'll need your sword and your brain."

The promise of more battle was tempting.

"Ofcourse, Inquisitor." 

Behind her, Amas snorted. "We'll be leaving in two days, bring your supplies, there'll be a fair few of us and we might need to do repairs on the road."

He gave her a peck on her cheek before departing. Picking up her bag of feed, brush and rag, she moved on to cleaning Amas's mount. It was the least she could do.

\--- 

It occured to Aldae that when she'd agreed to meet The Iron Bull that she hadn't suggested a time, just whatever 'later' meant. 

The requisitions business had taken longer than expected, a shipment of swords needed completing and they were down a few smiths in the forge thanks to illness. The sun hadn't quite set, but was starting its descent behind the mountains. Her stomach churned, what if she was late and he'd left? She'd wasted his time, just like at the inn. What if she was early? And she was waiting for hours with him never arriving? 

Her hands were sore from the day's work. No matter how many years of labor she'd done, or gloves she'd fashioned, or how thick her callouses grew, there was an ache that creeped from her fingers to her back that she couldn't shift after a day in the forge. The hard work always gave her an appetite too, so on her way she sneaked through the kitchen. The stew the kitchen had made smelt delicious, and she grabbed an extra bowl. Had The Iron Bull eaten? Would he think her stupid if she brought a bowl of food for him? 

In her panic and haste, she grabbed the second serving. If he'd eaten, she could do with the extra food. Or would she seem greedy? 

_Fenedhis._

She took the stairs to the battlements slowly, trying to balance the dishes and spoons, plus the extra mug she'd brought, in case he hadn't. _Creators_ , she was overthinking this. 

She couldn't see anyone on the walls, though they were cast in shadow from the setting sun. She approached, apprehension creeping in. This was foolish. There was a reason she didn't make friends here, didn't make ties. Ties went two ways, and being cut slack at one end hurt much worse than releasing it on your own. As she was preparing to turn around and head back, a voice disrupted her train of thoughts.

"Lavellan, over here."

Did her heart just jump? _Andraste's arse._

Following the voice, she found Bull leaning against one of the tower walls. For a man of such formidable size, he'd blended into the shadows easily. 

"The Iron Bull. I wasn't sure if you'd had evening meal. Here." She thrust the bowl of soup into his hands, chunks of turnip and beef sloshing about. He smiled down at the offering. 

"Thanks, I'm starving actually. Been in meetings with Red and Cullen all day," he rumbled, digging into the food. She joined him, leaning against the wall on his left side and taking a spoonful of stew. 

They stood in silence, enjoying the food as the sun vanished behind the peaks. 

Tucking his finished bowl away, Bull decended the stairs towards the balcony, overlooking the main garden. Aldae followed, still finishing the dregs of her meal. People were flitting about the space below them, ambassadors and merchants strolling around, lit by lamp light. 

"How'd you get that one?"

The Iron Bull's voice once again drew her out of her own mind. He was tapping his forearm, above the elbow. Looking at her own corresponding body part, Aldae thought hard to remember. She had so many scars now, most from mundane accidents. 

"Wolf bite. Nothing exciting, I just wasn't fast enough escaping when we stumbled into a den." She reminisced, it had been a silly mistake of youth, but one that could happen to anyone. She tapped her own shoulder, above the collarbone. “That one?”

He looked down at where she was gesturing. The short scar criss-crossed his massive shoulder. "Spider."

Her eyebrow shot up in disbelief. "A spider did that to you?"

"Hey, it was a _really_ big spider. Better a cut than a puncture wound and getting poisoned.”

Aldae smiled to herself, that was sound logic, honestly. Leaning over the balcony, she picked at a bit of loose stone. He broke the silence first.

“So, what actually happened the other night?” 

She tensed. How to explain that, when she wasn’t even sure herself? Taking a breath to steady herself, she began. “Again, I’m sorry about that. Crowd’s can make me uncomfortable. Not usually that much, but…” She trailed off, keeping her eyes glued on the courtyard below. 

“I mean, I guessed that much. I meant, with the disappearing act. Last I checked you weren’t a mage.” The Iron Bull’s voice was gentle, not needling like she’d expected. 

“Cole. He helped, he took me out of there. Teleported me, maybe? I’m honestly not sure.” Aldae felt silly, the lack-lustre explanation hanging in the air between them. “He… calmed me down."

"You could have left anytime if you were uncomfortable, Lavellan." 

"It's never that simple. It… The panic, it creeps up quietly, hits you before you've even realised. Amas wanted me to stay, and then we were talking, and it's easy to brush aside. Until it's not. And then you lose yourself." _Fuckfuckfuck._ "Was the barmaid ok?" A sick knot of fear tugged in her gut. She hadn't noticed him pouring out some maaras-lok into a mug. He was holding it out to her, was that pity in his eye? 

"She was fine, don't worry about it" he replied. No. It wasn't pity, something else. 

Aldae took a large gulp of the liquor. " _Creator's balls_ , it's worse than I remember," she exclaimed, sputtering. 

The Iron Bull laughed, "if you remember the taste, you didn't have enough." He took a swig from his own mug.

The glow from the lights below were bouncing off his metal eye-patch, and accenting the sharpness of his chin. Meeting his gaze, she took another drink. 

"The Iron Bull, could I ask you a question?"

"I told you, you can call me Bull. And sure, I've asked you plenty," he replied, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

_Why are you here? Bothering with me? Is it because I'm the Inquisitor's sister? Am I a source of information?_

"Perhaps, The Iron Bull." A breath. "Why become a mercenary captain?" 

He didn't reply right away and Aldae worried she had hit a nerve. He took another sip before talking, looking out into the night.

"I got assigned to Orlais, told to pose as Tal-Vasoth. Gather information on the nobility. I joined a company called Fisher's Bleeders but Fisher was an idiot, figured I could do better myself. And I did." 

"Isn't that for your company to decide?"

That earnt her a grin, making her tummy flutter. A cool breeze wafted over the balcony, calming her nerves.

"When did it become more just a cover story?" she asked casually, studying his face. There was an almost imperceptible change, a hardening she hadn't expected. If she hadn't been focusing, it would have been missable. However, there was a reason that she'd been sent to the conclave as a spy. Being on the outside all the time afforded a clearer look at the bigger picture.

"Who says it's not?" The words came out with a nonchalant chuckle. The mood had changed, the air around them shifted.

"Kremiscius, I'd wager." Aldae dropped her gaze, instead watching an older couple strolling hand in hand through the garden below. She'd pushed too far, wandered blindly into a forbidden topic. If Amas trusted him, that should be enough for her. But her instincts forced her down the path of suspicion, building the walls around herself higher.

She heard another relaxed chuckle, the edge to his voice softening. "They're good men. The Chargers. Odd ways of showing it, but I'd trust any of them with my life." No hint of irony, nothing suspicious. But ‘ _would they?_ ’ she thought. 

They lapsed into quiet again as a soldier marched the patrol route on the battlements behind them. Aldae finished her drink, holding her mug out for a top up. The Iron Bull obliged, examining her with his good eye. It seemed to twinkle, despite the tension that had settled around them. Curiosity driving her further, she asked, “What were you doing before Orlais?”

He sighed, the mirth in his eye gone as soon as it had arrived. Why was she so bad at this? Next time she'd steer the conversation towards a safer topic, like dragons, or booze. 

"Seheron, trying to keep the peace between us, Tevinter and the natives. It was a fucking shit show. I was there for ten years before I burned out, longer than most."

"Burned out?" Aldae asked.

"Lost one too many good men. Just couldn't think of a reason to carry on. Submitted myself for re-education, that's when I got assigned to Orlais."

For the second time that day, she balked. "Re-education?" That sounded ominious. 

He drained his mug, explaining "Yeah, it's just what it sounds like. You get brought back into the fold. Reminded what it's all about and how to serve the Qun again."

"It sounds like brainwashing." 

She didn't think as the words tumbled out of her mouth. There was no laugh, no lightheartedness, to greet the statement she's foolishly made.

"More like therapy." His voice was flatter now, marginally so. 

Aldae couldn't wrap her mind around it, willingly submitting yourself to that. "Was the alternative that bad?"

He took on an almost casual tone again, as if he were talking about the food they'd just eaten. "Becoming Tal-Vashoth? Abandoning the Qun? Becoming a vicious, mindless savage? Yeah, the re-education was better.”

Her voice was much quieter now. “I’m sorry for bringing it up,” she said, apologetically. He waved it off, looking unbothered. 

“What about you, before the conclave, before this? Where did you learn to smith? Most Dalish I know don’t exactly have easy access to a forge.” 

Aldae smiled, thinking of home. They were unusual in that circumstance, a lot of Dalish only worked with wood, or ironbark if they had it. “Clan Lavellan are less nomadic than other Dalish. We still move about a bit, but we have a few larger bases deep in the woods where we return, where we developed our own forges. We work with iron, steel, and other metals that we trade for. When Amas got thrown out of our original clan, I went with him. Clan Lavellan found us and took us both in, he was taught to control his magic, I was taught smithing and eventually made apprentice.”

Sighing quietly, The Iron Bull looked at her briefly. “How old were you?”

She shivered. “Amas was about 4, maybe 5 winters old, so I’d have been 9.” 

“Wait, you said you were thrown out that young? How’d you survive before the new clan found you?” he sounded disbelieving. She sipped the maaras-lok as he spoke, her tongue seemingly numbed to the taste by now. 

“We just did. I learnt to fight, Amas learnt… well, not much because he was so young. We were fine.” She shrugged, pulling the cloak around her tighter against the chill on the balcony. 

Snow started to fall around them, gentle and clean. Aldae hadn't seen snow much before Haven, it had been a novelty at first, and she could appreciate it from a distance. It was pretty, until it got slushy. Snowflakes had fallen to rest on the flat part of The Iron Bull's horns, a gentle dusting of white. He noticed her looking and smiled down at her. 

Either that was a smile of true compassion, or he was an _excellent_ liar. The latter she knew was true. It couldn't be both. The knot in her stomach tightened, a wave of sickness washing over her. Despite the chill of the snow, she felt herself flush. 

Pulling the hood of her cloak up and turning away, she started, "I should be going. Thank you again for the _maaras-lok_." She drained her mug, giving him a tight smile. 

She'd covered a good distance before he called out to her, “Spar with me tomorrow?” His voice was light, jovial again.

She turned, her brows knitted together. _He wanted to train with her?_ The snow had started to come down quicker. A smirk played on her lips. "Why, The Iron Bull? Are you looking for tips?"

He laughed boisterously, "I take more than tips usually." She could hear the booming chuckle, see his chest shake.

Her ears must have turned bright red, she thanked the Creators that her hood was up. Despite her best effort, a laugh escaped her own lips. She caught it quickly, praying the snow was masking the redness on her cheeks. She shrugged her shoulders, feigning nonchalance. 

"If I have time," she called back. Her feet carried her away across the icy battlements, his rumbling laughter behind her now, getting swallowed by the incoming snowstorm. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _lethallin_ : loved one  
>  _fenedhis_ : elven curseword


	7. command me to be well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull is paralysed by indecision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally never planned to make anything _this_ slowly burning, I promise.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are welcome!

\---

Aldae's morning passed in a blur. A messenger had brought her a note from Amas.

_'Fighting Venatori, do what you can to dampen their magic.'_

She'd been chewing a slice of toast as she skimmed through tomes, ignoring the filthy look from the librarian as she dropped crumbs in between pages, trying to find some secrets she didn't already know for this type of smithing.

She kept her head down in the Undercroft, ignoring Dagna and Harrit's bickering. Occasionally she'd ask the Arcanist’s opinion on a certain technique but she tried her best to block them both out and let her brain focus on her work. A fresh breeze blew in through the gaping hole in the under side of the mountain, and Aldae allowed herself a moment to marvel at the view. She missed her forests, the endless tree top canopies, but she was slowly warming to this place. 

The work on runes, weapon and armor modification took her through the afternoon and a good chunk into the early-evening. It wasn't until she was sitting alone in the garden that she remembered The Iron Bull's offer of a sparring match at all. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She had remembered first thing, waking up in her bedroll, the first rays of morning dancing across her face. But she'd been skillfully ignoring and dismissing the memory, until she had worked till her fingers ached. She considered her options. Ignore the memory, pretend it never happened and wake tomorrow to meet their war party heading to the Storm Coast, where The Iron Bull and herself would both know she'd ignored his invitation. Or, she could take him up on his offer, tired though she was, and get some much needed practice in before they left but run the risk of saying or doing something even more stupid than she had last night and ruin whatever budding rapore they were developing. 

Aldae took a deep breath, gathering together the work she'd done along with extra resources, just in case. A bead of sweat fell from her brow, moistening the stone under her feet. She noticed her lucky hammer was missing from her tool wrap. She heard Harrit call from over her shoulder, "Lavellan, this yours?"

She caught the tool he threw deftly. She nodded appreciatively at him, tucking it away in its case.

_"You er… you forgot a hammer."_

The memory flashed across her vision, embarrassment settling in, familiar like an old friend. Fuck it - she knew she was never good at backing down from a challenge. Packing her things up, she headed towards the main courtyard. 

It was blessedly quiet when she arrived, and she spotted the broad shape of The Iron Bull, and some of his Chargers that she hadn't met, in the training ring. They were paired off, working on typical sword and shield work, from a brief glance. When Aldae looked closer, she noticed some unfamiliar techniques, ones that piqued her interest. She approached and the qunari, spotting her, burst into a grin. 

"Lavellan! I wasn't sure you'd show." There was a mirth to his voice, a good natured teasing. 

Approaching him, she let her chin rise to meet his gaze. Her voice was level. "I was curious, your Chargers have some techniques that are unusual and I welcome any opportunity to train."

He smirked down at her, "Thought you could use some tips, eh?" 

She fought the smile tugging at her lips, but she was sure he'd caught her eyes glint at the blatant innuendo. “Actually, I thought you could use the practice also, judging on your performance during the dragon battle.”

His smirk cracked into a full blown grin. “Is that so?” He tossed her a spare training sword and shield, appraising her as she got ready. Aldae took a few steps back, planting her feet. The earth in the ring was cold and dry, she felt herself take root, physically and mentally in the moment. 

Wielding his own blunted greatsword, The Iron Bull wasted no time rushing at her. She dodged him deftly, a small step to the right. He swung again, closer now. Avoidable, with a shoulder dropped to the right. She fended off a heavy blow with her shield, swiping at him with her sword. He took a few paces back, but from the look on his face he was surprised when she followed him. Another jab with the sword that he blocked, another that glanced across his ribs. 

He let out another laugh, sending a short but powerful blow towards her, that she barely parried. She spun to her right, slamming her shield into him twice before stopping to take a breath. He took advantage of her pause to gain some distance, giving his next swing more power. She heard the slashing of air before she felt the impact, her shield barely taking the blow, the bone in her forearm vibrating painfully. 

Aldae forced the pain down, using it, letting it guide her. She danced towards his blind side, light on her feet. He swung towards her again, faster now, thinking that he’d guessed her tactic. However, when he guarded his blind side, she feinted, planted her feet squarely and lurched at his other side. He yelled in surprise, batting away the blunted weapon with a massive hand. 

“Playing dirty, are we Lavellan?” his voice was light, poking fun at her. 

Hoping she was returning the jape in kind, she retorted “Is it playing dirty if it’s an obvious weakness?” 

The Iron Bull chuckled, “Well, if that’s how we’re playing,” his voice low and menacing. For a moment, Aldae felt a spike of heat flash through her. She dismissed it as she took a few paces backwards. He ran at her again, anticipating her dodge and catching her sword arm with his weapon. She swore as she fought the urge to lunge back mindlessly, but she took a moment and dipped out of the way of his next swings. She managed to parry the last one, a smirk crossing her lips. She got close to him again, cutting off his ability to do any heavy, momentum-led attacks. Still, he skillfully pivoted and he lurched towards her again. He used the movement of his greatsword flying high to distract her from the leg sweep.

For a man so tremendously huge, he was a lot faster than she expected. With one low kick, she was planted on her backside unceremoniously. The throbbing in her bad ankle came rushing back, as a small cry escaped her lips. He loomed above her, greatsword pointed towards her threateningly. But behind the weapon, she could see the concern in his eye. 

Anger pulsed through her veins, hot and sudden. She growled, face screwed up tight as she rolled backwards, over her shoulder until she was crouched. She pushed through the pain in her ankle, pouncing up viciously. This time she was unrelenting, sword and shield impacting his chest, arms, if she was tall enough she would have bashed his skull in. He took several paces back, but she danced around him, under his swipes, gathering energy from his frustration. He was strong, and he was fast. But she was faster.

He pulled his greatsword back, twisting it over his head as if to lunge down at her. She was facing him squarely, eyes meeting for a split second before she ducked down and around, using the momentum of the spin to carry her weight through her shield arm, straight into the back of his knee. 

Down he went. On to his bad knee, carrying his heft in one hand, dug deep in the earth. The other still held the greatsword to the side as he caught his breath. 

The sheer focus that had been holding her attention dissipated, and she realised a large crowd had gathered. The Chargers that she recognised looked shocked, one or two seemed angry, and the familiar pin-pricks of anxiety started to flood her system. Had she taken things too far? He’d gone for her weak spot, it seemed only fair to retaliate. Fear and defiance fought inside her brain.

“The Iron Bull. Are you alright?” her voice broke the tension in her own mind, concern creeping in as she moved around to face him. 

His grinning face took her by surprise. He looked up at her, his gaze was warm, comforting, almost.

“Seems I did need a tip, or two.”

She barked a laugh, despite herself. Holding her hand out to him, a bit of the fear that had been creeping up her spine fled. He took her hand, his own practically swallowing hers, and let himself be pulled up.

In the crowd, they both spotted the familiar white hair and soft eyes of the Inquisitor. He waved her over, a gentle smile lighting up his face. She looked back to the qunari beside her, then again at the crowd that felt like it was tightening in on them. He seemed to recognise the unease that had started to cling to her, tight like a sodden cloak. He gave the hand that was still in his a small squeeze, that made her heart spark. She dropped his hand and his gaze hastily, as though they were tools straight out of the forge. She nodded a goodbye and fled as quickly as her aching ankle would allow. 

\---

Bull watched her as she left, concern fighting to the front of his brain, pushing past adrenaline, and a small dose of arousal. Not concern that he’d fought dirty, Lavellan had started that, he thought. His knee throbbed in agreement. 

He was concerned that he’d brought her into a situation too stressful than she was able to handle, so soon after her last bout of intense anxiety. He hadn’t thought they’d attract such an audience, but apparently they put on a good show. Her ferocity was no surprise, he’d seen that in the dragon battle, but it was something else entirely when it was turned against him. 

“You okay, Chief?” Skinner prodded him in the side with her blunted sword. She looked intense as always, ready to wage war at the blink of an eye. From the way she chewed her lip and looked between Lavellan and himself, he wasn’t the only one a little turned on. 

He turned to her, positioning his great sword towards her, a challenge. “Just great, c’mon, show me that parry you’re working on.” He swung, barely giving her a chance to put a guard up. He watched the flashes of white disappear from his periphery as he focused on whipping the Chargers into shape, the trip to the Storm Coast fast approaching.

\---

Amas had led her to one of the guest bedrooms, off of the garden courtyard balcony. It was ‘technically’ her room, she kept a handful of belongings in there, but she never slept there, preferring her open-air nook in the dilapidated space above the kitchen roof. 

She was sitting on the perfectly made bed, her foot in Amas’ lap as he poured more healing magic into her ankle, hunched over and looking drained. They were meant to be leaving tomorrow, headed for the Storm Coast. He should be saving his energy, not wasting it on her. 

Still, he looked up at her, no malice or resentment in his eyes. "I'm glad you're making friends, Aldae." 

She didn't reply, staring at the ceiling, a cobweb completely stealing her attention, focusing on the intricate strands of silk rather than get drawn into this topic. 

"I'd prefer if you didn't nearly maim my allies, though."

"He went for my ankle! I was retaliating." She spat back before she could help herself, fiddling with the fabric of one of the lavish blankets. She continued, "I thought this was what you wanted, anyway."

Sitting back, he took a sip of water from the cup on the nightstand. The jug and cup were replaced twice daily, regardless of whether she occupied the room or not. A bead of sweat travelled from his brow, down his cheek, over the vallaslin marking him for Dirthamen. 

"You didn't need to break anyone, Aldae." He didn't look accusatory, or even upset. He was _always_ teasing her.

"I didn't break him, I-" she flicked a finger at him, trying and failing to not rise to his taunts.

He paused to rest, the last motes of energy being absorbed into her bones. "Really though, I'm glad you're making friends here. Just don't kill them, please."

She didn't rise to this taunt, instead falling back onto the plush pillows on the bed. Sensing her refusal to discuss this any further, Amas took his leave, promising to see her bright and early in the morning. 

\---

The trip to the Storm Coast was uneventful. Their larger-than-usual travelling party garnered more attention than usual, but also deterred any would-be assialents. Bull was always on guard, but approaching the meeting point, he caught himself being shorter with people unnecessarily, the rain was making him miserable and the stench of wet horse lingered in his nose, but he forced himself to focus his mind, to quit being such a jack-ass.

Lavellan had barely spoken to him at all on the journey, though she’d barely spoken to anyone, including Amas. She was all business, no smiles, no jokes. Amas seemed to have brought her along as an on-the-go smith of sorts, fixing up everybody's weapons and armor whenever they weren't moving. Through the day's travel, she’d disappear towards the treeline, still preferring to travel separately. At night, she’d join the camp for food and to work on improving the parties equipment, but would vanish into the night when she was done. The benefit of travelling with a big group was not needing to take watch, so by the time he was awake, she’d be back at camp waiting for their group to move. 

At one point, to break the mundanity of travel, Bull had asked the boss about his sister’s behavior. 

Amas shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s Aldae for you. If she’s not working, she’s brooding.” He didn’t seem concerned. 

The rain continued.

Eventually they reached the rendezvous point, moving even slower after leaving the mounts in a town a few miles back. Bull spotted a tent and a few supply crates scattered around on the peak of a hill just ahead, this must be the spot. 

“Hissrad.” The name sent a shock through him, it had been a long time since he’d heard it out loud.

He turned, instantly recognising the man in front of him. “Gatt! Long time no see!” 

Amas had quietly moved to stand by his shoulder. “Boss, this is Gatt. We worked together in Seheron. Gatt, meet the Inquisitor. ”

“Lovely to meet you, Gatt.” Amas beamed at the other elf. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor.” Gatt looked good, but _tired_. It had been an age since they last saw each other, but the worry lines on his forehead were more pronounced. He’d even sprouted a few grey hairs, only noticeable when Bull looked close. His voice was polite, if clipped. “Hissrad’s reports say you’re doing good work.”

Amas looked up to him, confusion and amusement in his voice. “Bull’s name is Hissrad?”

“Under the Qun, we use titles, not names.” Gatt replied.

Bull interjected, “My title was Hissrad, because I was assigned to secret work. You could translate it to keeper of illusions, or-”

“Liar.” Gatt looked back to him, a small smile playing on his lips. “It means liar.”

Ignoring the look that Amas was shooting him, Bull relied, “Well, you don’t have to say it like _that._ ” 

Dismissing the comment, the boss continued. “Well, it seems we have a common enemy, I’m pleased to be able to build a relationship with the Qunari.” If you ignored the pointed ears and tattooed face, you could easily believe Amas was just some human noble, all versed in charm and politics, it was a gift that came easily to him. 

“Indeed.” Gatt said. “The Tevinter Imperium are bad enough without the Venatori cult bolstering their ranks. If they seize power, the war with Qunandar will likely get worse.” 

Bull nodded gravely. “With this red lyrium, the vints could make their slaves into an army of magical freaks.” He felt eyes on him again. “We could lose Seheron, and see a giant Vint army marching back down here.”

“That’s why we’re here, Hissrad, the Ben Hassrath agrees. We're ready. Our dreadnought is out of view, safe from any Venatori mages on land.”

The thought of getting to see a dreadnought filled Bull with excitement. It had been so long, they were such marvels of engineering, sheer power, but contained in steel and iron. 

“We need to eliminate the mages, then signal the dreadnought so it can destroy the boat carrying the lyrium shipment.

The boss turned to him, looking bigger and more confident than Bull knew him to be, but the crease in his brows revealed a glimmer of concern. “What do you think, Bull?”

“It’s risky. I’ve never liked covering dreadnought runs. Too much to go wrong.” An image of the boss dead on the ground, a Vint looming above him manically. The Chargers, fighting a battle they couldn’t win, flashed through his mind. He dismissed the thoughts as quickly as they came. “If our scouts underestimate their numbers, we’re dead. If we can’t deal with the mages, the dreadnought is compromised. It’s risky.”

Gatt squinted, mostly through the rain but Bull could sense the disapproval. “More risky than letting this red lyrium shit into Minrathous?” 

Amas continued discussing the plan with Gatt, questioning but never rude. After questions had been exhausted and the plan solidified, Amas took a step back. “Well, let’s go hold up our end of the bargain.” 

“I’ll go with you, Boss. Krem will lead the Chargers to the other camp. Gimme a few minutes, I’ll fill him in.” He turned from the two elves, heading towards where his men were. He spied the other Lavellan, closer than usual to the main party. She was leaning against a tree, looking casual but her focus watching the camp was intense. He made eye contact, the small smile she gave him surprising him. He continued towards Krem.

“Ok Chargers, listen up. There are two encampments. I’m going with the Inquisitor to one, Krem is leading you to the other. Take out any Vints that are there and _hold that position_. If you don’t fuck up, drinks on me tonight.” 

Amas rejoined him at his side, Dorian and Varric in tow. 

Bull gave a last look over his group, they were ready and prepared as they could ever be. Krem at the helm looking confident and competent, Rocky with his explosives ready to go, even Dalish with her ‘bow’ looked excited. This _had_ to work. It would. They were his men. “Horn’s up, Chargers!” he bellowed, grinning as they responded in kind.

\---

_Of course_ , things hadn’t gone smoothly. 

Aldae had watched as the Venatori boat went up in smoke, flames surrounded by icy cold water. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. The destruction unleashed by the dreadnought was terrifying, remarkable but terrifying. She’d been picking one of the corpses clean of useful items when The Iron Bull’s cheering was cut short. Moving closer to Amas, she’d felt the air around him had chilled, a sure sign of his nerves. 

“They need to hold that hill!” the elf, with a head of shaggy brown hair, had yelled. She hadn’t known that other races could be part of the Qun before seeing him. He wore the armor of their people but had no markings. She didn’t trust him.

The Iron Bull’s voice had rumbled like the thunder on the coast. “If they do that, they’re _dead._ ”

“If they don’t, the Venatori retake it and the dreadnought is dead. You’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari.” the other elf, _Gatt?_ spoke, his voice stern and hard. The silence that stretched before them only made things more tense, as The Iron Bull levelled a stare down at the man who seemed miniscule in comparison.

“You’d be declaring yourself _Tal-Vashoth._ ” He’d continued on with himself, voice raised and accusatory. 

“ _They’re my men._ ” The Iron Bull’s voice had come out thick, strained but in control. He’d turned to Amas, who’s calm veneer was faltering. 

“Call the retreat.” he’d instructed, nodding decisively despite the situation.

“ _Don’t!_ ” Gatt had cried, starting towards Bull. 

Without thinking, she’d withdrawn her blade and was holding it to his throat. Instinct had taken over, taking him by surprise. He’d backed away, anger clearly bubbling under his thin mask of composure, as they all flinched to hear the booming sound of the horn, signalling retreat.

“After all these years, you throw away all that you are, for what, Hissrad?” He’d started pacing, running his hands through his sodden hair. “For them?”

Moving past her blade, Amas had approached him, calmly but dominant, the air freezing now. 

“His name is Iron Bull.” 

Gatt had left, after that, slinking away into the downpour and fog. They’d stood in silence, watching the Venatori below them destroy the dreadnought. Aldae had wanted to look at The Iron Bull, to observe his reaction, but felt like she was invading in a horrifically personal moment, not meant for anyone but him. 

The explosion had rocked the landscape around them, a wave of heat dissipating the chill surrounding them all and making her wobble briefly. 

His grumble, low and resigned, broke the silence. “C’mon. Let’s get back to my boys.”

\---

_What a shit show._

The party had travelled back to the nearest village after the fight, preferring the cover of a solid roof than a flimsy canvas, should the Qun send people to retaliate already. He’d bought everybody drinks, kept up the air of laid-back Chief, but the warm inn had gotten too noisy for him, what with everyone drinking to forget the near death experiences and the political debacle that had just occurred. 

He snuck out of the inn, for once enjoying the feeling of rain as he passed through the door. It was generous to call this place a village, it was essentially just an inn on a crossroads, a few small huts built nearby, all surrounded by forest, scrubland and a few fields. He walked to a nearby fence and leant on it, looking down at the field of crops below. 

Tal Va- _fucking_ -shoth. 

He heard the footsteps approaching, light and delicate. The boss, likely here to check on him. The figure approached his good side, moving into the light of an oil lamp above them.

“Amas was right.”

Lavellan’s voice surprised him, he’d thought she would be hiding out in the forest somewhere by now. He regarded her quietly, about to speak before she continued.

“Your name _is_ The Iron Bull.” 

He smiled sadly. She looked beautiful in the soft glow of the lamp, her serious expression revealing nothing but a hint of concern. For a moment, she raised her hand as though she were going to touch his arm, and he found himself wishing she would. But she withdrew, taking a few paces back out of the light and murmured a ‘good night’. 

He let her go.

\---


	8. words hung above, but never would form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More blood and feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, comments and kudos are always extremely appreciated!

\---

The journey back to Skyhold was mundane, typical and left Bull far too much time to think. He tried to engage in small talk and chores to keep his mind busy, but the tendrils of fear were unavoidable. 

Tal-Vashoth. 

Experience told him what would happen now. An ‘official’ envoy, maybe, all polite facade to the Inquisition. They’d probably send someone to kill him. Maybe a few people. He made a mental note to be more vigilant, more so than usual. If he survived the attempt, which he was confident he would, he’d simply be left with the slow descent into madness without the Qun.

He’d known that his Ben-Hassrath higher-ups hadn’t been happy with his recent exploits, they probably hadn’t been too pleased with him starting his own mercenary company either. He’d known he’d been pushing the expectations of him, but his service and dedication to the Qun in Seheron had warranted some easing of the rules. And he was still a damn fine agent. How much dirt had he uncovered on the Orlais upper class? His results were still brilliant, even if the methods had been unconventional.

An image of Krem, bloodied, beaten, lying on the floor like a rag doll, flashed through his mind. Helping Krem had been fortuitous, for the Qun and himself, an ally and friend that would help him do even greater things. Help him find… a family?

Another image, Gatt, nothing but a skinny child, hiding in the shadows below the deck of the Tevinter slaver ship. Shivering, huddled, looking up at him with impossibly large eyes. So much hope. So much fear. So much potential. He’d found a place with Bull, a home, a support system.

And now that support system he’d once brought Gatt, so long ago, was lost to him. It had been a test, surely. To test his loyalty to the Qun, and Bull had been found lacking. He clenched a fist subconsciously. The more the thought about it thought, the more he wondered, _would I be worth the trouble?_ He spent too long, staring into space, doing the maths in his head. Was the single _Hissrad_ worth the lives lost on the dreadnought, all so the Ben-Hassrath would know where his loyalties lay? 

Bull wanted to be angry, but as he sparred with Krem in the training ring, back in the familiar castle that had become home, he couldn’t define his emotions with any one word. It had been a couple of days since they'd arrived back at Skyhold, and after a deliberately pointed stare at the gates before departing, Amas had left him to his own devices. The boss was smart, Bull wasn’t exactly the share-the-inner-workings-of-his-heart type. Better to process this by hitting things. 

True to Bull’s estimation, the ‘official envoy’ from the Qunari arrived, just as things were returning to the Skyhold version of normal. 

“The Iron Bull.” Gatt’s voice just carried over the clashing of shields. Bull withdrew from his offensive stance, putting the shield on the floor and motioning for Krem to stop. Hearing that name from those lips… He’d never been Bull to Gatt. Always Hissrad.

“Ah, Bull! And Gatt, I was told you’d arrived. I hope you found your journey to Skyhold pleasant.” Amas, ever charming, arrived almost immediately, sensing the ever increasing tension. 

Krem, polite as always, took his leave, bowing at the Inquisitor before moving a short distance away, though still staying within eyeline. Bull noticed the resentment in Gatt’s eyes as he watched the other man walk away. Jealousy? 

“Inquisitor,” Gatt’s voice was clipped, short but polite, “It is my duty to inform you that there will be no alliance between our people. Nor will you be receiving any more Ben-Hassrath reports from your Tal-Vashoth ally." His eyes bore deep into Bull’s own. Bull returned the stare.

“You under orders to kill me, Gatt?” 

The Inquisitor looked between them both, clearly hoping to remain courteous whilst avoiding conflict. 

"No. The Ben-Hassrath have already lost one good man. They'd rather not lose two." The grief in Gatt’s eyes was palpable and Bull could feel his heart crack, fissures of fire seeping in. Gatt broke eye contact with a shallow bow before heading straight for the front gate, and Bull mourned for the friend he would never see again, whatever-gods-there-were willing.

“So much for that.”

Amas looked up at him, taking a gentle step towards the larger man. 

“I’m sorry, Bull. You wanted to talk to me?” 

\---

“Twisting, turning, dirty hair, a child. A shadow looms above him, he cries out _‘father?’_ ” 

Aldae turned to her left where the shadow of the spirit’s hat was being cast across the stone of the battlements. “Hello, Cole. How are the sparrows?” 

“Bigger now, feathers taking to the wind like the seeds I lost.” His chin was dipped low but she thought she could spy a small smile on his face.

“I’m glad, Cole.” She stuffed the fears and thoughts that were lingering down, far down to the back of her mind.

“No, you aren’t. Your mind is _loud._ Dazed, tired, suspicious. Faces on faces on faces but which one is the real one?” murmured Cole. So much for being subtle about the chaotic jumble of her brain. 

“I’m jealous of you, Cole. I wish I could see what people are really like on the inside. No facade, no lies.” 

“But you can. You have your sword.”

She laughed gently as the sun sent rays of light bouncing off the peaks of the mountains, making her squint briefly. “Not quite the same, Cole.”

Unsurprisingly, she’d been stuck in her own mind for days, since the explosion of the dreadnought. In one sense, she was more sure of The Iron Bull’s loyalty to the Inquisition, and therefore, her brother and his safety. However, on the other side of things, she’d hardly ever been in a situation where her unrelenting suspicion of someone didn’t reveal something worth fearing. This was unfamiliar territory. If she wasn’t questioning his every move, every word, did that mean she had to trust something other than her gut?

“Snow leaves tracks, mud leaves prints, bark leaves scratches.” Cole’s voice dragged her out of loudness in her mind once again. Out here, on the battlements, with just the wind and the cold and the dull chatter of movement below them, it was easy to get lost in thoughts when it was so quiet.

The peace was disturbed though, when she heard a commotion on the balustrade below them, closer to the gates. It sounded like shouting, though not in common. She rushed to the balcony to see what was causing the issue, fear shooting like ice through her heart to see Amas and The Iron Bull being assailed by what looked like Inquisition scouts. 

Aldae felt time slow as she went into an instinctual mode. There were no stairs up to this part of the battlement, just a ladder leading into a room which then led out to where Amas was. No time to fuss over the heavy wooden latch and the rickety ladders. She took one look over the edge, trying to judge the distance, before leaping off and pulling out the dagger she kept stowed in her greaves for emergencies. 

Panic flooded her system as she ran, watching as The Iron Bull took a dagger to the chest, before pulling it out and hurling it back at one of their assailants. With one dead on the floor, he deftly picked the other up before hurling them over the balcony down to what must have been a painful, if swift death on the mountain rocks below.

As his back was turned, his breathing looking laboured, she noticed a third attacker approaching the two men as they were turned to look over the battlement wall. She reached them just as the threat raised his sword to attack The Iron Bull, before she plunged her dagger deep into their guts from behind. She felt the squelch of blood burst out of the wound, onto her hand, the muscles beneath the blade being ripped apart. 

The Iron Bull and her brother had turned to see the man fall to his knees, staring up at the qunari with blood trailing from his mouth, whispering _'Nehraa Qun…'_ before dying. Behind him, Aldae held the dagger she’d just ripped from his back tight in her grip, the blood warm between her fingers. 

The adrenaline in her system passed, and the pain in her ankle flared. A brief quiet fell over the trio, before both elves turned their gaze to The Iron Bull, confused and perturbed by the attack. 

“Sorry boss, I thought I might need backup.” The qunari huffed to himself. “Seems I was wrong.”

Aldae’s eyes were drawn from his face to the wound in his chest, a thin stream of blood trickling from it. “How’s that wound?”

He looked down at it and snorted, before continuing. “Fine. Hurt myself worse than this fooling around in bed.” Both elves looked mildly alarmed, though from Amas’s sly look he noticed Aldae blush. “What if it was poisoned?” he pointed out. 

“Oh, they definitely used poison. Saar-qamek, liquid form. If I hadn't been dosing myself with the antidote, I'd be going crazy and puking my guts up right now. As it is, it stings like shit, but that's about it.” He said this so casually that both Aldae and Amas swapped a look that roughly translated to _‘oh, he’s crazy, alright’._

Switching from the surprised, youthful brother she knew, and donning his inquisitorial persona, Amas stood taller. His gaze turned to the mess of bodies on the floor below them. “Someone should really tell Leliana what happened, and I loathe to put that duty on the shoulders of some poor messenger. Bull, please get that wound seen to, even if you say it’s fine. Aldae, come meet me later, we have some business to discuss.” He turned on his heel casually, as though the entire event hadn’t happened at all and took the nearest stairwell down and away from them...

...Leaving Aldae and The Iron Bull looking at each other, two dead bodies between them.

“Seems I’m not even worth sending professionals for.” His voice was gruff, he pawed at the wound on his chest. It looked angry, already puckering at the edges of the wound. 

“They weren’t far off being successful.” If that wound had been a bit higher, it could have nicked a larger vein, blood rushing everywhere, the behemoth of a man dead, just like that. She shook the image from her mind. 

“Hey, not true. Three guys with blades? That’s not a hit, that’s a formality. Just making sure it’s clear that I’m Tal Vashoth.” He paused, looking out over the mountains before them. “Tal Va- _fucking_ -shoth.”

Aldae paused to look at him. She couldn’t recall if she’d ever seen him this visibly disappointed, his shoulders sagging forward slightly, the resentment in his voice loud and clear. 

“The Iron Bull. You never told me much of the Tal-Vashoth, but I don’t believe that you suddenly fit into their category of unkempt madness that you once mentioned, if that _truly_ is what they are.” Aldae had only ever heard this one sided report of what Tal Vashoth must be, and comparing that to the man stood in front of her now seemed inaccurate, if not cruel.

“That’s easy for you to say, Lavellan.” He kept his gaze on the horizon. “You know how many Tal Vashoth I’ve killed over the years? How many I watched massacre innocents in Seheron? How many I’ve slaughtered so they couldn’t kill the people I was supposed to protect?” 

She heard the steel in his voice, the fire. She didn’t flinch from it. Instead, she took a step towards him. “My point is that the title of ‘tal vashoth’ does not define you, Iron Bull. Just as the title of ‘Ben-Hassrath agent’, or ‘mercenary captain’ did not define you. You are still the man that I knew a few days ago.”

He didn’t reply to that. His gaze seemed focused on the Inquisition encampments on the frozen lake below, judging from how his chin was tilted. She was positioned on his blind side, so she couldn’t be sure.

A rage bubbled under her surface. The injustice, the frustration of it all. Of this man’s loss of place, of her own confusion, of this maddening situation they were all lumped in together by the cruel curse of fate. 

“I apologise, if I’m trampling on cultural toes, The Iron Bull. But I see no correlation between the images of brutal barbarians that you’ve conjured, and who I see in front of me. The Qun does not define you.” 

His head snapped up at that comment. “The Qun didn’t define me, perhaps, but it did guide me.”

The words poured out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. “Bullshit. You don’t _need_ it to guide you, and from what I’ve seen and learned, you haven’t for a long time. It’s ok to outgrow the things that once brought security.”

He stared at her, his gaze seemingly vacant as he considered her words. “And what if I need the guidance? What if, without it I become some mindless beast? An animal.”

Maintaining his gaze, and taking another step forward unconsciously, she replied, “Perhaps that’s the difference between the Qun and the Inquisition. The Qun has you rely on it, to come back from your bloodlust and rage, from your rampaging through battle. We… I mean, Amas, Kremiscius. They _trust_ you to regain your sense of self when the battle is done. You are your own guidance. You don’t need the Qun. You are a good man _regardless._ ” 

Pausing to breathe, not meaning to have gone on a tirade against the Qun, but merely offer support to the man in front of her, she hadn’t realised how close to him she’d gotten. He’d moved from leaning on the balcony to facing her squarely. They were merely a foot away from each other and he looked down at her, his sole eye dark, his face set in an almost pained smirk, somewhere between amusement and bitterness.

“Hey Lavellan, I’d like to kiss you now, if that’s ok?” His voice suddenly sounded like it had been poured from a vat of honey, soft, if a little gravelly. 

The world slowed. She couldn’t have heard him correctly. He didn’t make any sudden moves towards her, didn’t rush her, maybe he’d just asked if she’d anything amiss? She replayed the words in her immediate memory. _‘I’d like to kiss you now’_... Nope, she’d heard correctly. 

_Fenedhis._

They stood chest to chest as she searched his face looking for some kind of decievement. Finally, as though spirits were possessing her, she returned his gaze before nodding. 

He closed the gap between them, placing an overly gentle hand on the nape of her neck, before brushing his lips over hers. They were dry, but full. The world suddenly rushed back up to speed, and she found herself returning the kiss, bypassing his delicate caress and the hand that wasn’t still wielding her dagger found its way to his shoulder to pull him closer. The hand in her hair tightened and a small gasp escaped her lips, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss. He was still being impossibly gentle with her, his other hand resting on her waist.  
Instinctually she pressed closer, sighing as he gently nipped her lip before pulling away slightly. 

His voice was low and quiet, as he murmured “Thank you, Lavellan. I’m glad I’m here. Whatever I miss, whatever I regret. This is where I want to be.” 

This was a _lot_ to process. Her mind was racing faster than her heart, which was hammering in her chest. She took a small step backwards, still clenching the dagger in her fist before realising it was hardly necessary. She wiped it off quickly before replacing it in its sheath and looked back to The Iron Bull. He hadn’t moved, but his face had softened and a small smile danced on his lips. 

As a burning heat started to pool in her abdomen, she gave in to her body's wishes and closed the gap she’d made. Somewhat clumsily this time, she pressed her mouth to his and used both hands to pull him down to her. He kissed back, his hand sliding slightly lower on her waist, sparking electricity through her veins. It was more forceful than the first, but he was still tender.  
She could feel the smirk on his lips.

She paused for a breath, embarrassment and arousal flushing her cheeks and chest. She took a few sheepish steps back, he dropped his hands and let her out of his reach. Keeping her eyes locked on his chest and _nowhere near his face_ she tried to steady her heartbeat.

“You ok, Lavellan?” His voice was husky, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

Taking a steadying breath, she dared to look at his face. She hoped her expression conveyed that she very much was ok, but it was likely a jumble of confusion, excitement, fear and a healthy dose of lust. She nodded, instead.

His smile split into a grin. “Good. Me too.”

She ran a hand through her hair, lingering where his grip had been, before realising she’d just dragged blood through her hair. If she hadn’t already been beet red, she was now. Trying to distract from the mess she was making, she nodded at his dagger wound. “You should get that seen too, The Iron Bull. And I should get this…,” she gestured at the bodies by their feet, “cleaned up.”

He shot her one last grin, wiping at some of the blood she’d unknowingly smeared on the back of his neck before turning away and heading in the direction of the medic’s tents. She nudged one of the corpses with her foot. _By the Creator’s_ , what had just happened? She’d known he’d been flirting with her whenever they spoke, but it was easy to dismiss. He was always a flirt. And what better source of information than the sister of the Inquisitor, who was closest to the most powerful man in Thedas, privy to all the organisation’s secrets? If he wasn’t getting close to her to report back to some secretive higher up… why was he? 

The familiar tendrils of anxiety started to creep back in, overriding any residual arousal still left in her system. Appraising the mess of bodies beneath her, she sighed before heaving them over the edge of the balustrade. These bastards didn’t deserve a funeral anyway. She was sweating by the time she was done, and her clothes were completely stained with gore. 

She resolved to treat herself to a bath tonight in her room, before returning to her nest beneath the stars. As she reclined on the hard, stone ground, she gazed up at the dark sky, studded with twinkling lights, and took a swig from her personal flask. Her smile was tense, if hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Nehraa Qun_ : For the Qun  
>  _Fenedhis_ : Elvish curse
> 
> Your patience is finally rewarded, thank you for still reading even though it's taken over 20k words to get to this point...


	9. freshly disowned in some frozen devotion, no more alone or myself could I be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"For every bloody battlefield, we'll gladly raise a cup._   
>  _No matter what tomorrow holds, our horns be pointing up!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this, I thought I'd write about 5000 words, get some angsty drabble and some smut out of my system and move on with my life. Now I'm over 30k words and have gotten way too invested in the lives of these characters, and can't bear the thought of rushing the story along. Thank you to everyone for reading, as always, comments and kudos are hugely appreciated.

\---

“No, _lethallin_ , please. Anything but that.” Aldae’s face was red, her voice strained and full of disbelief. 

Amas looked back at her with pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Aldae, but I need you there with me. Josephine thinks it will reflect better on the Inquisition to have you there and I’m scared to walk into that pit of vipers without you. I think it would make Clan Lavellan proud, to see both of us there in the Winter Palace, reminding those nobles that elves are to be respected.”

“Remind them who they’ve been persecuting for centuries, you mean?”, she scoffed to herself, “I swear, Amas, if even one of them call me _‘knife ears’_ I will not be held responsible for my actions.” 

They were up in his room, Amas reclining on the sofa whilst Aldae paced the same circuit around the desk and past the fireplace, over and over till the floorboards creaked. 

“They’d do no such thing, not in my presence at least.” Amas muttered to himself, growing dizzy watching his sister's repetitive path. The fire wasn’t lit yet, it had burnt out in the early hours of the night but thankfully the morning sun was warm and the breeze hadn’t picked up too much just yet.

“It’s what they’ll do when you’re not around that worries me.” She tried to temper the viciousness in her voice. The thought of being surrounded by the snake-like shems, trapped in their gilded cage, was making her stomach coil in on itself. 

“You won’t be on your own, I’m bringing everyone. And anyway, you’re essentially my bodyguard, you’ll hardly ever leave my side. We can pretend you’re a mute.” Amas laughed to himself, shooting a wink across the room at Aldae. 

She pondered this suggestion, it might stop her mouth running away with whatever creative insults she could conjure and forgo a political catastrophe. She finally paused her pacing, leaning against his desk. Pinching her fingers to the bridge of her nose, fingers grazing over the finely raised lines of her vallaslin, she took a deep breath. “Fine,” she huffed. 

All at once she was whirled up in Amas’s arms in a massive hug. “Oh, Aldae! It won’t be that bad, I promise… now, just hold still!” He started looping string that had seemingly appeared from nowhere around her, maneuvering her arms and spinning her like a doll, before jotting down notes on a scrap of paper on his desk. He twirled her around as the confusion on her face became more pronounced, then as quickly as he’d started, he was done. He grabbed the paper before rushing towards the door. “I’ll see you later, I have to get your measurements to Vivienne!” 

The door slammed, and just like that he was gone. It was a wonder he hadn’t been born a starling, for how speedily he flew about the place. Why would he need her measurements? She dread to think.

She tried to put the worry to the back of her mind for the rest of the day. She found herself in the stables, tending to the mounts. They were beautiful creatures, strong and noble, but could be affectionate at times. Her hart nuzzled her hand as she treated it to an apple, the fur of its snout was coarse and warm. She heard footsteps behind her, quiet but solid in the dirt. She had a decent idea who it was.

“Hey, Lavellan.” 

Did her heart just jump? She stole a glance over her shoulder, though she knew the voice immediately. She kept her back to him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the blush that had already started to bloom across her cheeks. 

“ _Savhalla_ , The Iron Bull,” she replied, hoping her tone was nonchalant. She heard him take a few more steps towards her, until he was practically looming over her though, somehow, it didn’t feel invasive. 

“I imagine you’re not too pleased about Halamshiral.” His breath skimmed over her ear. Her hart snorted, disgusted at the lack of apple treats left, and became promptly disinterested in her. 

Sighing, Aldae turned round. The Iron Bull was very much in her personal space, but looking up at the sly grin on his face, she found herself struggling to mind. Meeting his gaze confidently, she replied, “‘Displeased’ would be an understatement. ‘Worst nightmare’ is more like it.” 

His laugh was soft. He rose a massive hand, delicately tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear, holding her gaze the whole time, as though watching to make sure this contact was ok. _Was it?_ Aldae was awful dealing with feelings. Acting fast, dealing with a threat, hitting things, she was great at those things. She willed her heart to slow, and instead just leaned in to his touch. A quick pang of panic flashed through her, and she averted her eyes from his to scan their surroundings. 

“It’s ok, we’re alone.” The Iron Bull murmured, and she released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Turning back to him, she smiled coolly, before pulling his face down to hers. She didn’t know what was going on here, why he was interested in her, but right now she was happy to get lost in the searing kiss. He seemed plenty happy to be here too, as he pulled her flush against her, his hands grasping at her waist, bunching at the fabric. 

One of her hands was pulling at his shoulder, careful of the fresh, pink scar as the other snaked around to the back of his head, nails grazing over the skin where his horns met his skull. He groaned into her mouth, a noise that made the bud between her legs tingle. He pushed her back a few paces, until she was pressed flush against the stable door. The wood was creaking against their weight, not built for such pressure. He gripped at her waist harder, one hand travelling lower to cup her ass, and kissed her till she felt dizzy. 

Pulling back to catch her breath, she squinted up at him suspiciously. “Did you come down here just to kiss me, The Iron Bull?” 

His eye sparkled, and he laughed softly, giving her ass another soft squeeze. He lowered his lips to hers, more gentle this time, though one of his legs did nudge between hers, almost giving her the attention she wanted. _Almost._

When he pulled back he was smirking, clearly reading her disappointment. “No, actually. I wanted to invite you to drinks tonight. You, me, the boss and the Chargers. It’s time you all officially met.”

If she could have taken a step back, she would have, but the stable door and the massive qunari in front of her had her pinned. He noticed her change of mood and stood back, giving her the space she needed, and she let out a breath, relaxing slightly. It had been a few weeks since the… episode, in the tavern and she’d been doing better at anticipating the panic but what if she failed? She wouldn’t expect people to be patient whilst she spiralled in her own head, nor could she let Cole vanish her away again, take away her pain again. It was too embarrassing, too unfair on Cole. Too unfair on those who had to watch her fall to pieces. 

But she’s been doing better. She’d taken to morning and evening stretches again, something she’d been ignoring since the disaster at the conclave. It was a bullshit ‘alternative’ practice that their Clan had insisted they learn as children, meant to ‘center’ the mind and body. It hardly helped ‘center’ her the way a good fight did, or a good session in the forge, but it was something. 

The Iron Bull’s voice disrupted her train of thought. “You don’t have to, but other than us, the place should be quiet. It’s midweek, most folks are asleep early. You can not come at all, or leave whenever you need, no questions asked. I just wanted to make sure you knew you were welcome.” He kept his eye on her, kept his distance, but as she observed him, there was a subtle tightness to his smile, was that _concern_ for her? Her heart thumped harder in her chest, but she steadied her breath and just enjoyed the soft tickling of the breeze over her flushed skin as it blew through the open stables. 

She’d been doing _better_. She could handle this, and if she couldn’t, she’d damn well die trying. The desire to see more of the man in front of her, in more than the obvious sense, was too tempting to pass up. He already strutted about the place shirtless, but there was undoubtedly something further south that made the waitstaff of Skyhold whisper, and the bolder side of Aldae’s brain wanted to throw caution to the wind and find out for herself. 

“I’d like that, The Iron Bull.” 

His tentative smile split into a grin, as she closed the distance between them and gave him a kiss that was far too chaste for how she was feeling right now. 

She nibbled at her lower lip, before continuing. “However, if there’s nothing else, I should get back to my duties.” As if one cue, one of the mounts whinnied, baying for food and attention. The Iron Bull tucked the persistent strand of hair back behind her ear, that had been freed thanks to his earlier attentions, before giving her a soft kiss and leaving. 

As he left and Aldae turned back to the mounts, she thought she could hear him humming, a melodic, happy tune. The familiar knot of fear settled into the depths of her stomach and she bit her lip hard to try and distract herself. Instincts, be damned. 

\---

By the time evening had fallen, a heavy snowstorm was threatening to erupt over the hushed halls of Skyhold. The courtyards were empty, save for a few lone servants hurrying on their way, rushing to escape the harsh chill. The lights of the inn were a beacon in the dark night, the incandescence dulled slightly by the beginning mist of snow that was falling gently. As Bull made his way from the main hall to the tavern, he noted the harsh bite in the air, a forewarning of the incoming storm. He pushed through the door, eager to stop the chill leaking into the room. He paused to survey the room, enjoying the feeling creeping back into his fingertips. 

The room was, as predicted, quiet. Cabot sat on his own stool behind the bar, polishing a spigot absentmindedly. He noticed Bull. And ignored him. No surprise there, Bull thought, laughing to himself quietly. Most of the Chargers had already taken refuge in the tavern, occupying their usual corner whilst also taking full advantage of the quiet and spreading out a bit more. Some had their feet up on the table, though they were promptly removed when they noticed Bull’s arrival. A rousing cry of ‘Chief!’ made his heart swell, the warmth in his chest fighting off the chill from the outside. 

He settled in with Krem on his blind side, listening to his rabble recount stories of adventure from years ago. Their voices were the only noise in the tavern, Maryden nor her lute were present, seemingly resting for the night, much to Krem’s disappointment. 

“Krem, I’m happy to go knock on Maryden’s door, see if she’ll play you a song or two.” He’d have winked but the effect would have been lost on his second-in-command. Still, he heard Krem shift in his seat uncomfortably, crossing his arms. 

“No thanks Chief, I don’t need your cheesy pick-up lines.” Krem replied, sounding indignant. 

“The lack of a bardic companion suggests otherwise!” Rocky yelled from his seat, his pint sloshing in it’s tankard. Krem tried to raise the collar of his under-shirt up to hide the emerging blush.

The door opened and a white-haired blur bundled through, fighting the growing wind to close the door behind them. Bull felt his spirits lift, had she actually turned up?

“I hope I didn’t walk in on the Charger’s bullying one of their own!” Amas was beaming, the picture of charm. Bull tried to ignore the disappointment that tugged at the back of his brain. The boss continued, patting Krem on the shoulder lightly. “The Inquisition has a zero-tolerence policy for that kind of thing.”

“Your Worship!” Krem stood from his seat, the epitome of politeness.

“At ease, Cremiscius.” The Inquisitor flopped down in the seat next to Krem, a tankard appearing on the table in front of him as Cabot wordlessly shuffled back to the bar. No one else was lucky enough to get the table service, and Krem took the opportunity to get in another round. 

“How’re you doing, Bull?” Amas’s smile was genuine, but Bull could tell the question was loaded. Between everything that had happened with Gatt, the sorry excuse for assassins, and then with Lavellan, he wondered how to answer that truthfully. There was a gleam in the boss’s eye which made Bull suspect that he might have an idea that _something_ had happened between Lavellan and himself, but it was definitely not the right time to spill the beans.

Speeding the discussion away from himself was the best tactic. “I’m just great, Boss. How’re you? How’s things with our favourite ‘Vint mage?” 

Amas picked up his giant tankard, smiling down into it, his own blush now forming across his pale cheeks. A flash of something mischievous danced across his young features, before his eyes darted back up to meet Bull’s own. “Very well, thank you.” Something more hung in the air between them, though neither of them pushed it further. “You wanted to formally introduce me to the Chargers?”

Bull was just about to start calling everybody's attention, but just as he started, the door blew open again. A cloaked and hooded figure slammed the door closed behind them, leaning on the wood to make sure it was fully shut. They headed towards the bar, walking slower past the fire, relishing its heat. The light reflected off a piece of lock of white hair before delicate fingers tucked it away. His gaze lingered a second longer than he intended, and he heard Amas clear his throat before calling his sister over. She lowered her hood, a tight, nervous smile set on her face, making her lips a cold line. She waved, before grabbing a bottle of wine from Cabot, and made her way towards them, a slight wave to her hips that Bull had to force himself to ignore. 

She gingerly took the seat that Krem had vacated. It meant she had her back to the wall, and her brother at her side, and Bull could see some of the tension in her shoulders ease. She pressed a small kiss to the crown of Amas’s head as she passed, an act of domestic affection that made Bull’s heart ache. The apprehensive smile on her lips softened slightly as she regarded him quickly, but turned her gaze to the group around them warily. 

Bull couldn’t contain his grin any longer. “Chargers! Listen up! Time to officially meet our boss!”

Amas was grinning, looking like a child on Satinalia-eve. Lavellan looked a lot more reserved, one hand gripping the bottle of wine. She’d forgone a glass and was drinking straight from the bottle. Bull appreciated the efficiency.

“You’ve both met my second-in-command, my little chiefling, Krem-da-la-Krem! Krem, you’ve met the boss. This is Lavellan.” He gestured to the two elves to his left as Krem came back from the bar and leant on Dalish’s chair, nudging her with his hip as she smiled up at him.

“Inquisitor. Mistress Lavellan.” Krem nodded, politeness oozing out of every pore. He looked over to see Amas laughing at his sister, who’d screwed her face up in response to Krem’s title.

“I’d advise never calling Aldae a ‘mistress’ anything again.” The boss was laughing as Aldae shot him daggers, before she looked back to Krem, a serious expression on her face.

“Do you prefer to be called Krem?” she asked, and Bull could feel the sincere intensity of her look as Krem smiled nervously back at her.

“Yes, it’s preferable to anything else the Chief calls me.” That elicited a laugh from the group. 

“Moving on, here are the Chargers that bothered to turn up.” He turned to the two elves who were smirking back at him and exaggerated his whisper, “I prefer these ones anyway.” Someone lobbed a balled up sock at him and a round of cheers went up as it landed on his horn. He swatted at it before giving up and letting it sit there, letting them have their laughs. 

“So, here we have Rocky, our explosives expert.” Bull gestured over to their dwarven Charger, who was downing his current tankard.

“Were you born on the surface?” The boss asked, a childish curiosity passing over his face.

“Nah, I’m from Orzimmar, though I got exiled. Stupid noble crap.” Bull heard Lavellan snort gently, holding the wine bottle to her lips. Rocky continued, “Also I accidentally blew up a bit of the Shaperate…”

“A bit? Though, to be fair, I heard it was mostly just aesthetic damage. Anyway, Rocky’s our best sapper. He can take out enemy fortifications like a child kicking over a sand castle.” The dwarf beamed proudly.

“Also, I’m working on my own version of Qunari black powder. I’ve nearly got it!”

Bull turned dramatically to their guests and shook his head. “No. He doesn’t.” He heard Rocky scoff and wander off to the bar in search of another drink. “This is Stitches.”

“I take it you’re the company healer?” Amas asked, his friendly smile unwavering. 

“Aye. Picked up a sword when the blight hit Ferelden, never put it back down.” Stitches mouth was a hard, downturned line. Like usual. “I make a decent salve though, it keeps this lot from not dying.”

“It tastes like shit though,” Bull interjected. 

“That’s ‘cause it’s meant to go _on_ the skin, Chief, you’re not meant to drink it.”

Amas laughed along with the rest of the group, and seeing the gentle smile flash across Lavellan’s face, Bull decided he didn’t mind being the butt of the joke. Next, Amas tried engaging Grim in conversation, but that went about as well as expected. 

Bull explained, so there was no awkward silence, “He doesn’t talk much. I think he’s the long lost king of some empire, or a chieftain, something like that.”

“Skinner, what about you? How’d you join the Chargers?” The contrast of how sweet and kind Amas was being, against the harsh frown of Skinner was, honestly, kind of hilarious. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just how diametrically opposite they were as people. 

“Killed some people.” Skinner was answering the boss’s question, but her gaze lingered on Lavellan. Lavellan looked back. A wave of… something inappropriate, flashed through Bull’s mind and he tucked that nugget of information away for later. 

“She didn’t take kindly to nobles testing their swords on elves in her alienage.” His voice came out thicker than intended. He coughed, as Skinner continued.

“Bull took me in. Now I get paid to kill shems.” Her smile was smug, as she leaned back in her chair, testing glances at their two guests. 

“This is really good behaviour for her. She’s not marking her territory, or anything.” Bull teased, as Skinner shot him a look could make a more timid man piss himself. 

Taking a glance over his crew, his heart swelled at the familiarity of it all. “And finally we have Dalish. Named for obvious reasons.”

He was surprised when Lavellan spoke, instead of Amas. Her voice was warm, if reserved. “Why aren’t you with your clan?” 

Dalish’s friendly smile faltered. 

“You know how it is.” Bull interjected, hoping to keep things positive. “You lot don’t like more than a few mages in a clan at any one time.” 

“Why, Ser, you know I’m not a mage, that would make me an apostate.” Her voice had taken on a teasing tone, “I simply wanted to see the world!” 

He raised one eyebrow, regarding her with a mock coolness. “You carry a staff, Dalish.”

“It’s a _bow._ ” She replied with a practiced weight. 

Lavellan smirked, some of the tension dissipating from her shoulders as Bull watched. “Honestly, The Iron Bull. It’s like you’ve never seen a Dalish archer before.”

The party around the table erupted into laughter, and she immediately looked perturbed, before it became clear they weren’t laughing _at_ her, but with her. He joined in, happy to see Lavellan looking more relaxed. 

“See, I told you Ser!” Dalish was beaming, pronounced creases in the corner of her sparkling eyes. 

Bull couldn’t keep the pride from his voice as he surveyed the room. “They’re assholes. But they’re _my_ assholes.” The mood was merry, even more so when Rocky started a rousing chorus of the Charger’s song. Gods above, they were embarrassing. Bull smiled to himself before finishing his tankard of ale. 

It had been less than a week since his defection from the Qun. Sat in the tavern, surrounded by his Chargers, he didn’t doubt he’d made the right decision. That, however, didn’t mean that the knot of tension and worry wasn’t still worming itself around in his stomach. They’d sent the sorry excuse for ‘assassins’ as a formality, of that he was sure. But what if they targeted the Inquisition now? What if they targeted his boys? He couldn’t be sure how far they’d go to truly punish him. He was fully aware of how hated Tal-Vasoth were.

He was dragged out of his thoughts by shifting to his left. Amas was just reclaiming his seat, having brought back another bottle of wine and a mug for himself from the bar. Lavellan was still looking reserved, but her posture was less restrained. Her head was tilted towards Amas, showing off the strong lines of her neck, the muscles lean under sun-blemished skin. The boss definitely caught him looking that time. 

Through the din of song, overflowing tankards were being passed around and someone had even scavenged platters of food from somewhere. The wind was beating against the solid walls of the inn and the windows were vibrating. The storm that was now raging outside only encouraged a feeling of comradery inside, more logs were thrown on the fire as everyone celebrated being warm and together. Bull had even told the Chargers that morning drills were cancelled tomorrow, to save them the pain of hungover training.

Krem and Amas were discussing Tevinter. The boss was leaning across the table with his chin resting in his hands, looking like a fascinated child. Lavellan was hovering, listening intently but had moved to stand behind the Boss, leaning on the banister of the staircase. She’d cocked her weight into one leg, her other bent at the knee, accentuating the curve of her hips. She was hitting her current bottle of wine pretty hard, but other than that she seemed laid back, engaged in the conversation. 

He spent some time talking with Stitches, being regaled with theories about the uses of certain herbs, and the Inquisition medic’s beliefs about the importance of balanced humors versus the well known cure-all of pickled eggs. Bull listened intently, throwing in tidbits he’d picked up from experience, but kept his gaze on the whole group. Always looking for irregularities. Always looking for trouble. Some habits would never die. 

He noticed as Rocky and Skinner joined Krem’s group, the topic switched to explosives. Rocky happily regaled the bundle of misfits in front of him, getting progressively louder and more enthusiastic as he went on. A few patrons staggered through the tavern door, already drunk themselves, and covered in a heavy dusting of snow. They were already shouting at Cabot for drinks, they clearly didn't know that volume didn't get you anything faster in this place. Lavellan's posture had shifted slightly, both feet planted firmly on the floor, though her upper body and face still exuded relaxation. Her face had stilled, her eyes getting a glazed over quality that he'd seen too many times on young soldiers in Seheron. He started to move from his seat, he'd get her some space, some air, but his own plans were interrupted.

Dalish approached the group and placed a gentle hand on Lavellan’s crossed arm. Bull noticed the slight flinch, but doubted that anyone else had, and Lavellan had quickly composed her face into a polite smile.

“ _Da’len!_ Sit, please! The Chief says your clan is from the Free Marches, tell me about them?” Dalish was definitely tipsy, as she dragged Lavellan over to a couple of vacant chairs. Lavellan let herself be maneuvered, a puzzled smile quirking on her lips. 

“ _Da’len?_ I must only be a few years younger than you, _arani._ ” 

"Nonsense! You flatter an old archer!" Dalish winked, a huge smile on her face as she pressed a hand to her chest, feigning being overwhelmed. Bull smirked to himself, Dalish was neither an archer, or old. 

Lavellan leant forward in her chair, mirroring Dalish's playful smile. "There's not much to tell. What about you? When did you leave your Clan?"

"I was ten, though I was only a bit shorter than you are now. One of the older lads was teasing me mercilessly, cruel things I couldn't repeat. Wouldn't you know it, but a second later there was an _arrow_ in his arm!" Both women smiled, both expressions tinged with sadness and recognition. "We already had a Second and a Third, no room for another archer. I travelled with a few other clans for a while, but none felt like home, you know."

Lavellan drained the last of her wine, but didn't move to get another. “ _Ir abelas._ " Bull hadn't picked up much elven, but he was pretty sure that meant 'I'm sorry'. 

" _Ra's te'son._ " Dalish replied, waving a hand dismissively. That was lost on Bull, though he could make a good guess.

Grim wordlessly brought another round of drinks for everyone, eliciting grateful murmurs from the two hushed elves. 

"We were late comers to the clan. Technically we're city-born. Only half-Dalish." Lavellan shrugged, holding her new drink, a tankard of what looked like ale, close to her face, concealing a frown. 

"You are still _or var vhen, da’len_." Dalish's voice had softened drastically, and Bull suddenly felt like he was treading in territory not meant for him. 

Lavellen tucked and crossed her feet underneath herself, managing to look relaxed and defensive at the same time. " _Ar eolasa_. How did you come to join the Chargers?”

“I was working for another mercenary group before him, a bunch of elves from an alienage decided to get out, make a better life for themselves. I joined them, naturally, not that they liked me too much. Too Dalish for them.”

Bull, of course, knew the story of how he found and recruited Dalish, her original group had only been slightly more competent than Fisher’s Bleeders so it wasn’t difficult to poach her. But listening in to their conversation, he took notice of the quiet pain that had never been present in the story before. The tenuous link between the two women, of quiet grief and isolation, ironically, was bonding them in this moment. The two continued to chat for a long while, slipping in and out of Elven and Common, laughing at each other's regional pronunciations and discovering different terminology for shared experiences. 

A few more songs were sung and drinks were consumed before the night winded down entirely. Everyone was reluctant to head out into the cold, but Cabot wouldn’t entertain the thought of them staying in the tavern overnight. Krem dragged Rocky and Dalish out, the rest of the Chargers having left slightly earlier. The Boss was clearly unsteady on his feet, but full of merriment as he slung an arm around Lavellan, who could at least stand up straight. If he was being honest, even he’d had a bit much tonight, though it wasn’t enough that he’d feel it in the morning. 

“Thank you, Iron Bull, for the invitation. It’s been a good night. I’m going to make sure our Inquisitor gets to bed safely.” 

Lavellan had approached him, pulling her brother along. Both had gentle smiles on their face, though Amas looked positively goofy, his big eyes looking up at Lavellan adoringly. He booped her gently on the nose before snickering, and going slack in her arms. She held his weight easily, the muscles of her shoulders tightening in response to the extra weight.

“I can give you a hand, if you want. Might be short a few fingers though.” Bull offered, eliciting a _giggle_. Now that was a sound he wanted to hear again.

She started dragging the boss towards the door, waving him off with her free hand. 

“You sure?” He asked, not that he doubted her capabilities.

She nodded. “We should be ok, thank you, The Iron Bull.” Then they were both gone.

The tavern door had closed, leaving just him and Cabot who was staring at him grumpily, already making his way to the front door to lock it.

Taking a deep breath, Bull was preparing to climb the stairs, slightly unstable on his feet before the door burst open dramatically, eliciting a string of curses from Cabot. Lavellan pushed through, already coated in thick snow that hung heavy on her cloak. 

“Actually. It’s very slippy out here. Your assistance would be appreciated, please.” She looked entirely embarrassed to have to ask at all. A laugh escaped him, making her frown before he ushered her back out, dipping his head to avoid bashing his horns against the door frame. Amas looked miserable in the cold, still half asleep. He slung the boss’s other arm around his shoulder and between them, his feet barely touched the floor. 

It was freezing out here, ice clinging to his harness as they warily made their way across the frozen lake that had replaced the courtyard. Her fingertips brushed against his arm, sending jolts of heat across his skin where she touched. The warmth of the main hall felt like fire in comparison. Bull noted that even Lavellan’s nose had turned a soft shade of pink and _by the gods_ , it was _cute_. 

They hauled Amas up the steps to his room, who seemed to grow heavier with each step, but between them they handled his weight easily. Upon reaching the top, a rustling disturbed Lavellan, who shrugged off her brother’s shoulder, trusting Bull to catch him. Her hand went for the knife she kept in her greaves, before they were both interrupted with a soft, Tevinter accent calling out “ _Amatus_ , is that you?”

Lavellan’s face turned steely cold, despite the warmth of the fire in the room that had clearly been blazing all night. It was so painfully awkward and all Bull could do was laugh and declare, “Hey Dorian, got a delivery for you.” 

The ‘Vint appeared at the top of the steps in a loose robe, looking dishevelled but still impossibly handsome. He took one look down at the group before tutting to himself and turning back to the bed. He called over his shoulder, “Get him into bed for me, will you?” 

They did so, whilst Dorian decanted some water from a pitcher on the desk, and procured a herbal remedy that would likely be necessary tomorrow morning. Lavellan’s face was thunderous, rivalling the storm outside, and as soon as she seemed sure that Amas was comfortable she turned and hurried from the room not giving either of them a second glance. 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow at Bull, glancing between him and the now empty space at the top of the stairs. Bull shrugged. What could he even say? 

He caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs, where her features had softened. She looked up at him bashfully. 

“Sorry about that. Thank you, for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it. You need help getting to your room?” 

Her smile grew, and her blush spread. It definitely wasn’t the temperature change this time. He’d always wanted to find out where she disappeared off to. He could have easily found out through his more unconventional means but that felt wrong, like an intrusion. She started towards the stairs to the rooms above the garden. She motioned for him to follow.

She led him up the stairs to a room at the end of the path. It was quiet, they were slightly protected from the storm and the chill wasn’t as bitter here. She unlocked the door, and he spied a room that looked untouched, save for a few objects scattered about. 

She turned to him, illuminated from the glare of the snowstorm, her hair practically glowing in the stark light. She raised her chin to meet his gaze fully, a playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Are you coming in?”

 _Shit._ He knew what that meant. And it’s not that he didn’t want to. Boy, did he want to. But they’d both been drinking, and from her slight sway he could tell she was still tipsy, if not fully drunk. He wanted them both to want this, not for drink to make her bold only to regret it in the morning. When, _if_ , they did this, Bull wanted to take his time, unravelling her and devouring each morsel of information about her that she’d gift him. 

He wanted to kiss her, so badly. He wanted to run his tongue along the scar on her lip, to pull her hair and make her gasp into him. He knew she wanted to, the way she'd pressed into him in the stables betraying her coy behaviour. But it felt too much like taking advantage. 

He'd taken too long. Her smile didn't falter, but a sharpness appeared in her eyes. 

She stepped back into the dark room. "Thank you for the help with Amas. Good night, The Iron Bull." Before he had a chance to speak, she'd closed the door in his face. Not slammed, but quickly and gently shut him out. Hearing the lock click in to place felt like a stab in the gut. Had he just fucked up? 

As if lamenting his poor decision making, the wind picked up, cutting across his bare skin. He remembered when they'd been fighting the dragon and Amas had coated Varric's bolts with ice magic. Yeah, this is what that must have felt like. It stung.

\---

Aldae leant against the door, resting the crown of her head against the wood. There was a chill to the room, and it was dark, uninviting. Sighing, she lit a few candles and sat on the bed, her head sinking into her hands. 

She'd fucked up. She'd read the signals wrong. She'd overstepped and embarrassed herself and she wanted to dig a hole underneath Skyhold and hide in it until this was all over and she could go back to her clan. 

She balled the blanket in her hand, scrunching it before releasing it, over and over trying to calm herself. The bed was too soft, too plush and there was no chance she'd be able to sleep in it. At least she'd be warm. Or she could sleep in her nook, under the stars, but would likely freeze to death. A sleepless night it was. 

She'd thought something was there. She'd thought he wanted her. She couldn't fathom why, but she'd been hopeful. The disappointment flooding her system wasn't just for the lack of sex. 

Amas had looked so proud in the tavern when she'd been talking to Dalish, she'd started to feel comfortable. Started to feel like she was making a friend, despite her best intentions. But she knew sheer embarrassment would keep her from the tavern now. So much for that. 

She threw the blankets on the floor before lying down. This would hardly be comfortable but she might get some fitful sleep on the floor compared to tossing about on the overstuffed mattress. Her eyes felt watery and she blinked through the blur, staring up at a constellation of cobwebs that the servants who tidied her room must have missed. It was a poor comparison to the stars above. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven language in this chapter has largely been procured using the Project Elvhen and Elven DAI Translater and related sources. My use of is likely not gramatically correct, but I did my best. (https://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883)
> 
>  _Lethallin:_ loved one  
>  _Savhalla:_ greetings  
>  _Da’len:_ child  
>  _Arani:_ friend  
>  _Ir abelas:_ I'm sorry  
>  _Ra's te'son:_ it's alright  
>  _Or var vhen:_ of the elves/people  
>  _Ar eolasa:_ I know


	10. every word i've got is foreign to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words need to be spoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still genuinely shocked I've hit 10 chapters, thank you for the lovely comments and support, I appreciate them so much.

\---

A light knocking roused Aldae from her dozing on the floor of her room. She threw the blankets back on the bed and rustled the sheets, disturbing the otherwise perfectly tucked duvet, trying to make it seem slept in. She opened the door to a plain-looking human woman, in worn but tidy clothes. 

“Pardon me, messere, but the Inquisitor is asking for you. He’s in the Undercroft.” 

Aldae simply nodded, observing the servant. Her downcast eyes were a light shade of brown, nearly hidden when she curtsied and retreated back towards the main hall. In her absence, Aldae regarded the bright morning. Sunlight was glaring off the fresh powder of snow that coated every surface, but the sky was a clear, soft blue. The calm _after_ the storm. A refreshing breeze fluttered over her skin, easing the hint of a headache that had started to creep in. 

After closing the door, she glanced at the mirror in the room. Her hair was a bird's nest of mess and knots, and the makeup she'd worn last night had smudged everywhere. Using a clean wash cloth and her mother's old comb, one of the only personal effects she'd brought to the conclave, she decided she was presentable enough. She didn't bother with her usual lick of fresh black kohl around her outer eyes, letting the lines of her vallaslin for June accent them alone. 

She changed into clean clothes, and pulled her less tangled hair back into a ponytail that sat high on her head. It wouldn't help the headache brewing, but not having hair in her face was preferable right now. Throwing open the door, and pushing back the embarrassment of last night, Aldae felt ready for the day. 

The Undercroft was freezing, it was still early in the morning after a snow storm, and none of the smelters had been heated up yet. Amas leant on the guard rail, looking down at the empty space, Dagna nor Harritt having started yet. 

"How's the head?" She caught him by surprise, apparently oblivious to her entry. He held a hand to his chest, in exaggerated surprise. He looked like Dalish in that moment she'd feigned flattery, and Aldae felt a hollow pang of regret.

His hand moved from his chest up to clutch his head, clearly worse for wear. His hair and clothes were immaculate, the perfect presentation of the _Inquisitor_ , but beneath the manicured surface she could tell the strain he was bearing. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Awful, to be honest. Dorian told me you and Bull managed to drag me to bed last night, thank you for that.” His voice was slightly hoarse but the smile he gave her was genuine.

“Ofcourse, _lethallin._ ” 

“Aldae, I have a favour. Another favour, I mean.” His smile took on a twinge of sadness, just briefly, before he turned away to look over the workshop.

She didn’t reply, but joined him leaning on the guard rail.

“I was meant to be travelling to the Hinterlands today, to oversee a transaction for some minerals, metals, trade stuff in Redcliffe. Josephine wants me and Vivienne in meetings all day to discuss the upcoming Winter Palace visit, but the quartermaster has been hounding me to complete the trade deal for longer than I care to remember.” 

He trailed off, leaving them in comfortable silence. The thought of appealing, she could do with the distance from this castle and its inhabitants.

“Yes, Amas. I’m happy to go in your stead.” 

His shoulders visibly sagged. It sounded like it would just be a quick trip, but if it alleviated his burden she was happy to help. He flung an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into an awkward side hug. 

“The sooner you leave, the sooner you’re back and we can all head to the Winter Palace. Take Varric, Dorian and Cole for backup, not that I anticipate you’ll be fighting anyone.” Amas straightened up, clearly trying to shake off the hangover.

"I'll set off as soon as I've had some breakfast. You should get something to eat, too. Send word to the others to meet me at the gate with their mounts and we'll leave before midday at the latest." She gave him a reassuring smile, hoping that he'd follow her advice for once and look after himself. She wasn't thrilled at the idea of travelling with Amas' _beau_ but they had established a respectful silence in each other's presence. 

She turned to leave, but Amas grabbed her wrist gently. He didn't speak immediately, so she rejoined him at the railing. 

He took a deep breath before turning to her, looking her squarely in the eye. 

"Aldae. How are you doing? Really?"

She forced every fibre of her body to remain composed and smiled gently at him. "I mean, my head hurts a bit, but I'm okay _lethallin._ "

He didn't reply, but looked skeptical. She scoffed as he raised an eyebrow at her. 

She mirrored his expression, giving nothing away. 

"I thought that things were going well. Between you and The Iron Bull."

Aldae tried to maintain a cool facade, but her brother knew her reactions well, and he definitely caught the glance of hurt that betrayed her placid smile.

She tried to swallow, though it got caught in her throat, making her voice hoarse. 

"So did I."

He pulled her into a hug, and she let herself be comforted. "Talk to him, Aldae. Talk to him." He murmured in her ear before releasing her and ushering her towards the door. 

She turned, just before she left. "Drink some elfroot tea. It’ll clear your head right up." She tried to let some humour creep into her voice as she left him alone in the Undercroft.

\---

_“Words hang, unsaid. The door, a wall, a mountain between you.”_

The Iron Bull had been sitting alone in the main hall of Skyhold. Tapestries stretched from floor to ceiling, embroidered with flowing, modern designs that hinted at Dalish inspiration. Servants and nobles pottered around behind him as he ate his breakfast, never fully oblivious to them, but well trained at tuning them out. However, the soft words that fluttered past his blind-side ear were hard to ignore. 

He jolted, despite his years of training, before groaning. 

“Good morning, Cole. I’ve told you to stop spooking me on my bad side, one of these days I’ll stab you.”

“No, you won’t. You call me ‘kid’. You don’t kill children.” The spirit took the seat opposite him, gracefully and quietly, no scraping of wooden chair against stone. 

“True. But still, don’t do it.” He returned his gaze to the bowl of porridge in front of him, there was no point trying to read Cole’s intentions, his body language. Nothing about Cole made sense. 

“An invitation. She wanted you to warm her up. It was freezing inside, even the spider in the corner was cold.” The spirit murmured. Bull wasn’t in the mood for the kid to go rooting about his thoughts. He regretted letting the Chargers have the morning off training, it would have been _something_ to occupy his brain. He’d chastised himself plenty last night, gone over the situation a million times trying to work out how to not repeat it again. 

“Cole, can we do this tomorrow or something? I’m too tired for your… “ he waved his hand dismissively, “for, _this._ ” 

Cole looked up slightly, the wide brim of his hat giving way to his downturned lips. “We can’t, The Iron Bull, tomorrow I’ll be in the mountains with Aldae. We’re leaving for a few days.” 

That got Bull’s attention. _Shit._ Even if it was only for a short time, he didn’t want last night to be how he left things with Lavellan. The look of cold resignation that had flashed across her face was worse than any knife twisting in his gut. He'd seen that look before, on the face of rebels that didn't fully believe in their cause. She had seemed so quickly accepting of the idea that he wasn't actually interested in her, that he didn't want her. No, this wasn't how they were going to leave things. He was going to find her before she left, and they were going to talk about this, like adults. 

He looked up, and found Cole had disappeared, which was entirely expected. The chair was unmoved. Bull sighed, running a hand over his face, massaging the base of his horns. The kid was a blessing and a curse, sometimes. 

\---

The sun was nearly half way through the sky by the time the rest of her party had collected their mounts and were heading towards the gates. A loud voice disrupted the train of thoughts clouding Aldae's brain. 

"Lavellan, a word?" The last voice she wanted to hear was calling to her. She sighed, patting her hart on its neck, ushering it to stop. She turned warily, watching The Iron Bull striding towards her. He looked troubled. Understandably so, considering the awful situation she'd put him in last night. 

She took a deep breath. 

"I'm sorry, The Iron Bull. I'm leaving for the Hinterlands for a few days. Can it wait?" 

He made up the remaining distance, but stood a few feet away from her. His expression was stony.

"No, not really. Please, just a few minutes, before you go." Tension knotted in her gut, sick and cold. 

She gestured to Dorian for them to go on without her, before dismounting her hart and closing the gap to reach The Iron Bull, leaving a respectable distance between them. 

He turned, signalling her to follow, and led her to a quieter, darker part of the gateway, away from observant eyes. He seemed to mirror some of her tension, his posture seeming stiffer than usual. 

"I just, I wanted to apologi-…" he started, before she interrupted, the words falling fast from her mouth. 

"I'm sorry." 

His brows furrowed, as he regarded her, looking confused and strained. Through the shadow of the gateway, only his good eye seemed illuminated and it was trained on her with unwavering concentration.

"... What for?" His voice was thick, likely tinged with regret.

Aldae tried to resist the urge to hug her arms to herself, to build a physical wall, if not a mental one between herself and the man in front of her. 

Another deep breath. "I'm sorry for presuming you wanted to join me in bed, and I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable. It was not my intention."

His brow furrowed even more, was he angry? She couldn't blame him, if he was. "You didn't make me uncomfortable." He took a step towards her, but the distance between them still felt cavernous. "You didn't… I wanted to come in." 

The knot in her stomach tightened. 

He continued, watching her intently. "I wanted to come in, Lavellan, but we'd been drinking, and the last thing I want is for you to do something you don't actually want to, and regret it later."

She tried to remember to inhale. Hold for four. Process the information. Exhale. Act naturally.

"You did want to come in?" The words floated between them. 

He nodded.

"You were trying to be respectful." 

Again, he nodded.

Aldae pinched the bridge of her nose, resisting the urge to pull her hair out of its tie and rake her hands through it. 

"And I slammed the door in your face."

The hint of a smile ghosted over his face, not quite removing the hard set tension in his expression. "To be fair, you didn't _slam_ the door."

"I do need to apologize, The Iron Bull. I am fucking _awful_ at this." A harsh laugh escaped her lips. Her stomach felt like it had been flipped and a druffalo had stampeded over her.

“Lavellan?” 

His voice couldn’t stop the laugh that was spilling from her now, bitter and confused. She turned to fuss her mount, adjust it’s saddle, anything to occupy her shaking hands as she tried to stifle the sound coming out of her. Her ears twitched at the sound of movement behind her, and he tentatively laid a hand on her shoulder. 

Fire and ice danced in her system, veins ablaze, as she spun around to face him. She needed clarity. “What do you want, Iron Bull?” She winced at the temper in her own voice, she didn’t intend to come off as cruel. 

He looked down at her calmly. 

“You.” He took an infinitesimally small step closer, the look in his eye was soft but his voice was low, thick like hers had been earlier. “I want you. I want to take you to bed, I want to discover every scar on your body, I want to kiss you until your lips are swollen.”

She blinked slowly, trying to process the information being put forward. The ice had given way to fire, burning hot and deep inside her. She met his gaze, trying to look as sure of herself as possible. 

“I want to make you come undone, Lavellan.” His voice was deeper than usual, strained, a low undercurrent of a growl. The noise weakened her knees. She was no fainting damsel, but by the gods, the thought of collapsing into his arms was tempting. But he took a step back, losing the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. Her skin tingled in its absence. 

“What do you want, Lavellan?”

_Fehendhis, ar ame felasil!_

This time, she closed the gap between them. She still stood at least a foot away, giving him space if he wanted it.

“I want you, The Iron Bull.”

The crease between his brows softened, and he cupped her face gently. “I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled kindly, grazing his thumb across her jaw line. “I don’t want this to happen again. I want to make sure we’re on the same page going forward, does that sound ok?” 

She nodded into his hand, maintaining the eye contact with steely focus. 

“Good.” He continued. “Let me know when you get back, alright?”

Aldae let her own hand ghost over his, brushing over his arm and resting on the strap of his harness. He lowered his head to hers, meeting her lips. The kiss was slow, smouldering before he pulled her flush to him. It was harder to maneuver in her armour, but she hooked an arm around his neck and deepened the kiss. Reluctantly, she pulled back after giving his lower lip a gentle nip, and looked off to the horizon where her travel companions would be waiting. He let her go, his smile more pronounced, and some of the tension gone from his shoulders.

She mounted her hart, looking over her shoulder at him before she set off. 

“I’ll see you soon, Iron Bull.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lethallin: loved one  
> Fehendhis, ar ame felasil!: Fuck’s sake, I’m a fool!


	11. flowers, flowers grow where i'm laid to rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aldae and co trek to Redcliffe and she finds her cold veneer fading slightly along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something of a character study chapter. As much as I love awkward, flirty encounters, I wanted to explore more of Aldae's character. Stay tuned for some sexy-times next chapter.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are hugely appreciated!

\---

Four mounts traversed through lush landscapes, three sandy horses and one brecilian hart guarding the rear. Clean, powdered snow gave way to murky slush, which further gave way to damp green. The breeze carried the smell of wet grass and fresh earth with it, pulling at Aldae’s hair. She’d taken it down from the ponytail, and left it loose. She was absent mindedly fiddling with it, feeling more laid-back than she’d been in a long while, though still caught up in her own thoughts. Apprehension blended with excitement in her gut as she thought about what awaited her back at Skyhold. 

“Honestly, Lavellan, you brood worse than Blackwall.”

Dorian’s voice cut through the wind, he was looking back at her from his mount. A smirk was lingering under that ridiculous moustache of his. 

“I’m not brooding.” She shot back. “I’m just focused.”

Varric chuckled to himself. “I think it’s just more noticeable because you’re actually travelling _with_ us for a change, Charmer.” 

“Yes, focused on brooding, that’s what I said!” Dorian quipped. He was trying to push her buttons. Was this about the other night? By FenHarel’s arse, she’d been embarrassed. She obviously knew they’d been sleeping together in the… carnal sense, but to walk in on Dorian sharing Amas’s chamber, even when her brother wasn’t present, was their relationship that serious now? She tried to let the words pass by without rising to the taunt. 

“Focus on the flame, _filius._ Sparks at your fingertips. He taught you to burn, but you were too bright for him.” Cole’s soft voice chimed in. He was riding with them, just ahead of Aldae. She was pretty sure he didn’t need to travel with them, that he could fade-step into existence wherever he was needed. He was here for their benefit, the spirit trying to be more human. 

Dorian chuckled bitterly to himself as a flock of geese flew overhead, a wistful smile tinged with regret. A few feathers fluttered down from the sky, decorating the trodden dirt path with unblemished white. 

“Well, moving swiftly on…” Varric began, reading the tension with a practiced ease, “Why are you travelling with us, Lavellan? You usually make your own way.” 

She paused. She wanted to say that it was quicker moving together, they were focused on speed rather than stealth and she wouldn’t be able to keep up on foot. But she knew she could meet them at the merchant’s shop in Redcliffe on time by travelling directly through the mountain paths, and she could travel through the night which wasn’t an option with a larger party. Maybe it was something to do with the fleeting sense of friendship that she’d had when talking to Dalish, some sort of connection with someone other than her brother here that felt reassuring, perhaps she was seeking it again. But, she was doing this for Amas, and Amas had asked her to travel with the group. 

She settled on, “it’s quicker this way.” Her hart whinnied, as Varric looked back at her questioningly.

“From what I hear, you have good reason to want to hurry back to Skyhold.” Even though Dorian had turned away, she could _hear_ the shit-eating grin on his face. Aldae willed herself not to blush, as she caught Varric fighting a snicker.

“Oh yes, I’m _so_ eager to get back to Skyhold so that we can depart for the Winter Palace, I can't wait to have to bite my tongue in front of some pretentious nobles.” She would not give him fodder to tease her with. 

“Oh, you’ll _love_ it really, Lavellan. Between the ridiculous masks, tiny food and casual assassination, these sort of events are fabulous.” 

Varric was losing in his battle to not laugh. “Can you imagine their faces when the Inquisition walks in? Two elves, a rag-tag bunch of humans, a dwarf, a qunari, and a Sera.” 

“ _A ghost._ ” whispered Cole.

“Don’t forget the evil Tevinter magister.” Dorian chimed in, mirth rich in his voice. 

The image was ridiculous, and Aldae let a smile creep onto her face. “No blood magic in front of the nobles, ‘Vint.” 

“I’ll try my best.”

\--- 

They made it to Redcliffe in good time. The sun was setting behind golden, pink clouds and a slight drizzle was muting the dimming light. They arrived too late, the merchant already having closed up shop and was unwilling to talk business until the next day, so they opted to head to the local inn and have a drink. Dorian was happy to sleep in a real bed after days of sleeping in tents, and Varric seemed content to people-watch and trick some new victims out of pennies with Wicked Grace. Unsurprisingly, Cole disappeared, though Aldae thought she saw his wide brimmed hat moving in the shadows occasionally. 

Despite the rain, it was a beautiful night and Aldae didn’t want to spend it inside. She wandered the streets of Redcliffe, past the ruins leading to the church, feeling the ghosts in the stone calling to her. She gazed down on the waves of Lake Calenhad from a secluded perch, watching the fishermen return from a day’s work. And just as the last rays of light disappeared behind the mountains, she walked the path from the docks back to the inn. There weren’t many people around, so she was surprised to pass an elderly elf, sitting on a bench looking forlorn. Only thanks to her vision being better than most, did she notice the delicate white lines for Mythal decorating his forehead, mostly hidden by his greying hair. 

“ _Hahren_ , what troubles you?” Her voice surprised both of them. She wasn’t exactly known for being friendly or overly helpful like Amas was. He looked up at her with kind eyes, though grief was clearly present. 

“Ah, _da’len_. Don’t mind me, I’m simply lamenting the world as is today. Demons, mages, templars, all stand in the way between me and my dear Senna’s grave.” His voice was soft, pained and sparked hurt in Aldae’s heart.

She joined him on the bench, not minding the damp as the rain fell gently. He looked tired, skinny under the layers of hide and plain cotton. 

“My name is Aldae. What may I call you, _hahren?_ ” 

His gaze lingered on the black lines of her vallaslin, in stark contrast to his white markings. “A pleasure, Aldae. My name is Varhel.”

“Was Senna your _falon'saota_?” She asked.

“Yes, we were bonded for thirty seven summers. She died, about ten years back. I always make an annual pilgrimage to her grave, but men and monsters roam that land now and it’s much too dangerous.”

“I’m sorry.” Aldae felt the air change, the air got heavier and the rumbles of a storm could be heard on the horizon. 

“ _Mas serannas._ What brings you to Redcliffe?” Some of the grief lifted from his face, the change of subject seemingly lightening his heart. 

She smiled to herself. “A favour, for my brother. Where is Senna’s grave?”

Varhel looked confused, his head tilting inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

“We’re only in Redcliffe tonight, we’re back on the road tomorrow. My party and myself are more than capable of dealing with the threats in the wild. I’ll take Senna her flowers, and your love.” It seemed only sensible, if they were passing through the area. And something about the gentle, kindly man next to her was familiar, comforting. A link to home.

“Thank you, _da’len_ , you do an old man many graces. Her shrine lies on the western hill, near stones shaped like tables.” It might have just been a droplet of rain that slid over his wrinkled skin, or it could be a tear. It didn’t matter. 

Despite the rain, they continued talking for a while. Varhel told her about how he met Senna, how they came to Redcliffe, of the children they couldn’t have and the many adopted niece and nephews that had run amok in their home throughout the years. They’d left their clans, but found more family than they ever believed possible. Varhen told her of his own crafting projects, the wooden toys he would carve for the village children. He told her of Senna’s illness and the quick decline that had left both of them shell-shocked and hollow, the warmth that had blossomed in his chest when a child presented him with a crude wooden figure, a gift to try to end his weeping. 

Aldae didn’t do favours, except for sad elven men who reminded her of their Keeper. 

\---

Aldae had tried to handle the business dealings, but had willingly given control over to Varric when the merchant had started both flirting _and_ trying to short change them. She settled on leaning against the back wall, sharpening her sword, whilst Dorian verbally beat the man into submission and Varric twisted him with his silver tongue. They departed successfully, leaving the fraught merchant behind them. 

The morning air was crisp, and the storm the night before had left the ground soft. Their mounts' hooves sunk into the wet mud. They travelled for about half a day, before Aldae recognised the area that Varhel had mentioned. She pulled on her mounts reins gently, causing it to whine and attract the others attention. They turned back to her questioningly.

“I’ll meet you all back at camp tonight, I have something I need to do alone.” 

Dorian arched an eyebrow. “How ominous.”

“Aged hands touching gently. Her spirit beyond the veil is sad, scared of being forgotten.” Cole’s voice fluttered along on the breeze, before his eyes snapped towards Aldae. “For her memory.” 

They all lingered in awkward silence, chancing glances at the spirit.

Varric broke the silence first. “Well, now that the mood’s all morbid, we’ll be on our way. Be safe, Charmer.” 

“Do you want me to help?” Cole’s gaze hadn’t left her, though the brim of his hat was now hiding his piercing eyes.

Aldae smiled. He was too compassionate, too eager to help. Gods forbid, she was becoming truly fond of him. “No, thank you, Cole.” She nodded at the other two. “See you later.”

She directed her hart to move westward along the path, leaving the men behind her. It took her another few hours until she spotted the specific outcropping that she was searching for. She was at the base of a gently sloping hill, certain her quarry was at its peak. She guided her mount upwards, till the stone shrine she’d been seeking crowned the grass, highlighted by blue sky above. 

Aldae dismounted, brushing a hand through the hart’s mane before leaving it to graze. The shrine was three grave markers, surrounding a slightly taller mineral statue that had long since crumbled and been absorbed back into nature. The names on two of the graves had mostly worn away, some Elven letters still visible but not readable. But there, on the middle tablet, were the markings she was looking for. 

_Senna Junar Sathrian  
8.75-9.30_

Sathrian? She had never heard of that Clan before, though it could be that it was a small clan, dispersed by the time she’d begun learning. Varhel had told her that they’d met when their clans crossed paths, then stayed with his own for a few years after they bonded, but eventually moved to Redcliffe, so maybe Senna’s clan had disappeared after her departure.

Bringing her thoughts back to the present moment, Aldae assessed the shrine. Dirt was splattered up the base of the three graves, and moss was growing across the flatter edges. A tiny sapling had even sprouted from a crack in one of the more worn graves. Approaching them, she began to wipe away the moss and pulled out the sapling, discarding it to the side. Using a damp rag, she began to wipe away the mud that coated the stone, admiring what was left of the intricate engravings, delicate depictions of Falon-Din guiding the passed to the Beyond.

Once she was happy that the shrine was thoroughly cleaned, she lit a candle that she’d purchased from Redcliffe. It was a soft, gentle white that offered no light, but the small flame offered a focus point, as she kneeled on the cold stone. 

_“Savhalla,_ Senna. _Ame_ Aldae Mara Lavellan. Varhel _dirthera’isa lath sul’ma i is abelas te’lan shiral mar ha’na’in min annar. Amen banal’halem ga dhea'him.”_

It had been a long time since she’d spoken so much Elvish, but the words pouring from her mouth felt fluid, reminding her of home. The younger generation of Clan Lavellan mostly stuck to Common, except for prayers or song, but perhaps out of a childish need to appease her elders, she’d always reverted to Elven. She’d never wanted to be away from the clan for so long, and was worried that her language might have somehow left her, leaving her feeling even more isolated. 

Aldae paused. That feeling of isolation, that had been so present, so cavernous inside her chest, was still there, but fractionally diminished. Since the conclave, it was as though invisible chains had been pulling her home, only opposed by the bonds that linked her to Amas. But now, wound around the familial cord, was a string of something new, delicate. It was fragile. She cared little for her own fragility.

Her gaze had wondered past the shrine, into the endless green below her. The day was clear, and she could see the mountain peaks in the distance, a promise of something awaiting her back at Skyhold. She pulled out a handful of sedum flowers that she had picked earlier (much to her parties confusion) and laid them delicately at the altar of the shrine, next to the lit candle.

 _“Hamin atish_ , Senna. _Nuva ghi’in Falon’Din. Sule sal'melana.”_

She extinguished the flame between her forefinger and thumb, before rising to her feet. She took one final look at the grave, before collecting her hart and starting the journey back to camp.

\---

“Brooding is a bad look on you, Chief.”

Bull threw his most blasé look at his second-in-command, trying to pretend he’d been totally focused on the conversation happening around him. 

“I wasn’t brooding, Kremsicle, I was listening intently.” He shot back.

Krem looked skeptical. “Uh huh. What were we talking about then, Chief?”

Bull regarded the table. Krem to his left, then Stitches, Rocky and Dalish. The other’s had disappeared off, either scattered throughout the bar or enjoying the mild night air outside. It had been a full week and a half since Lavellan’s party had left for the Hinterlands, promising to be back in half that time. He had no reason to worry, and the boss hadn’t seemed perturbed but maybe he’d received word that things were fine. Bull had no place inquiring about a mission that had nothing to do with him. He tucked the nugget of concern away, before turning his attention back to his Chargers.

“And I quote…” He started, before pitching his voice up an octave, “ _Dalish;_ ‘Have you heard the kitchen got a shipment of those squishy, sweet Antivan fruit?’” He lowered his voice again, “Rocky; _‘You’re sweet enough, lass.’_ Then Stitches wondered aloud if it would be strange to ask the kitchen for the fruit peelings for a poultice he’s working on, and finally you, Krem, thought you were being clever trying to catch me out.”

Krem huffed, crossing his arms across his chest and sinking lower into his chair as the rest of the table snickered into their drinks. Bull hadn’t gone through years of rigorous training to let his emotions and focus fall to nothing just because he was a bit worried. 

It was a frustratingly typical night for the most part and Bull was restless. He joined in the conversation, but Krem kept squinting at him suspiciously. He rolled his head, feeling the ache across his shoulders. He’d trained harder than usual today, wanting the distraction. He dismissed himself, deciding to take in the breeze on the battlements. 

He was enjoying the solitude, the sun had long set but the cold chill wasn’t as bitter as usual. As much as he wanted to become absorbed in the quiet, his Ben-Hassrath training meant he was immediately aware when gentle footsteps approached him. 

“There was a storm, north of Redcliffe and the path flooded. They had to hunker down for a few days and then take a detour, plus Aldae’s hart refused to budge in the rain, stubborn mare that it is.” Amas appeared beside him, leaning on the stone battlement, looking out over the mountains. His hair seemed to sparkle in the evening light. 

“Bah, that sucks for them.” The nugget of concern faded, and a small smile played on his lips. The boss was uncannily perceptive for someone who hadn’t trained as a spy, Bull was almost positive that he knew there was _something_ going on with his sister, but Bull didn’t want to discuss it until he knew what was happening too. 

“Looking forward to getting your ‘Vint back?” Best to steer the subject back to the boss, stop the needling before it began. 

Amas smiled brightly, teeth as white as his hair underneath full lips that curled upwards. Then he sighed, resting his chin on his hand like a love sick maiden. “I hate sending him out without me, but I thought that him and Aldae could do with some bonding time.” He scoffed gently. “I’m hoping she sees that he’s not the evil, elf-enslaving, blood magic-wielding villain she thinks he is.” 

Bull barked a laugh. “We already have that villain in Coryphyshit.” 

Amas joined him, chuckling, though Bull thought he spied a coldness settle behind his eyes. 

“Hey, if I can learn to like him, I’m sure she can too.” 

The boss’s head snapped up to look at Bull, the smile now practically ear splitting, a glee replacing the coldness. “I can’t believe you just said you like Dorian!” 

Fighting the urge to smack a hand to his forehead, or hit the much smaller man, Bull just groaned. “If you tell him, I'll kill you. Not some sneaky Ben-Hassrath shit, Boss, just straight up murder, don’t think I won’t.” 

Amas was in fits of giggles now, nearly bent double. "Just wait till he finds out!" 

Bull's shoulders sunk in defeat. First rule of spying, never give anything away. Well, he'd clearly been a shit Ben-Hassrath anyway. 

Above them, stars twinkled in the clear, dark sky, tinged green by the scar of the rift. Both men glanced at each other, a resigned voice joining in chorus with a gleeful one. 

"He'll be _insufferable._ " 

\--- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _fillius_ : child (Tevene)  
>  _hahren_ : elder  
>  _da'len_ : young person  
>  _falon'saota_ : wife/bondmate  
>  _mas serannas_ : thank you  
>  _“Savhalla,_ Senna. _Ame_ Aldae Mara Lavellan. Varhel _dirthera’isa lath sul’ma i is abelas te’lan shiral mar ha’na’in min annar. Amen banal’halem ga dhea'him.”_ : Greetings, Senna. I am Aldae Mara Lavellan. Varhel sings tales of his love for you and is sorry he could not visit your shrine this year. But he carries your memories in his heart everyday.  
>  _“Hamin atish_ , Senna. _Nuva ghi’in Falon’Din. Sule sal'melana.”_ : Rest peacefully, Senna. May Falon’Din guide you. Until next time.
> 
> I tried to compose my own sentences in elven, using https://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI and Project Elvhen (https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848) however my understanding of grammar is limited at the best of times, so please forgive me if I get anything wrong!


	12. your head tilt back, your funny mouth to the clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan returns from Redcliffe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting, I know it's been a while, but it turns out that smut is super hard to write! If you're not into smut then probably best to skip this chapter, it's almost _all_ filth. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are ridiculously appreciated.

\---

The silhouette of Skyhold crested the horizon, like pillars of ice piercing the morning sky. Behind her, Dorian lagged, his shoulders slumped after the extended night’s ride. Varric seemed equally tired, though kept cracking jokes, trying to keep morale up for the last leg of the journey. Cole still curled in on himself, as though he were trying to hide the tallness of his human form. 

They’d been delayed thanks to flooding north of Redcliffe, much to everyone’s displeasure. It had given Varric more chances to needle her with subtly leading questions, clearly trying to find out more about her. It wasn’t that she was opposed to telling him, but she didn’t want to end up in one of his stories. From his anecdotes about Kirkwall, he already had a white-haired, brooding elf character.

The knot of apprehension and undeniable lust that had settled deep in her stomach even before they’d left was now even harder to ignore. Her thoughts were hazy and easily distracted. She’d decided to walk alongside her mount for the last bit of the journey, being overly aware of the friction that the saddle was causing between her legs. Her cheeks burned at the thought of the others noticing, and she prayed to Mythal that Cole wouldn’t put words to her loud mind. 

By the time they passed through the gates of Skyhold fortress, it was early morning. Servants were hurrying about their duties, and unsurprisingly, Amas was the only one to greet them. He flung himself into Aldae’s arms, hugging her tightly as she rested her chin on his head, feeling a part of herself slot into place again. He squeezed her again, before letting go and giving Dorian a gentle kiss on the nose and then lips. She caught them both blushing, and fought a smile trying to creep onto her lips. Amas even moved to give Varric a hug, making the shorter man bluster and laugh. Amas was so fantastically affectionate, she thought he often forgot that not everyone was the same. Cole had vanished, leaving his ashy-coated steed huffing at the sudden lack of weight. 

Everyone dispersed shortly after, promising to catch up later over drinks after they’d caught up on sleep. Aldae was left standing in the upper courtyard alone, eyes flicking between her nook above the kitchen, or the tavern. The Iron Bull had said to let him know as soon as she got back… but how early was _too_ early? She didn’t want to wake him up, or disturb his sleep. But if she didn’t go to him, would he think she wasn’t interested? Because _fenedhis_ , was she interested. She played over the alternatives for a moment, before turning towards the steps leading to the upper entrance. She didn’t want to sleep right now.

\---

Her hand was poised, hovering next to the door. She could turn away. She could reject this squirming, wavering uncertainty in her gut, reject this tenuous thread and build the walls around herself back up, stronger and more formidable this time. She didn’t _need_ connections. 

A great sigh escaped Aldae. She didn’t need lovers, or friendships. But… she _wanted_ it.

She knocked, a heavy, purposeful thudding.

Quicker than she could blink, a strong hand had grabbed her by the wrist and was pulling her inside.

Inside, she moved to grab her sword, instinct taking over before she relaxed, taking in The Iron Bull’s huge form.

“Good, it’s you. I’ve scared a few chambermaids, thinking they were you.” His voice was light, jovial, and he certainly didn’t look to have just woken up. 

He clearly caught her confused posture, as she arched an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

He coughed, looking as close to bashful as she’d ever seen him. “Someone sent word that you’d be back this morning, so I’ve been awake for a bit.” The bashful look disappeared, replaced by a playful smirk, as he sauntered towards her. “Not sure why they thought I needed to know, can you think why?”

Aldae stood her ground, memories flashing back to their first encounter in this room. She stood as firm as she had the first time, more confident this time. “No idea.” The words came out in a husky whisper.

She expected him to pounce on her, sweep her into his arms like she’d been imagining in her quieter moments. What she wasn’t prepared for was for him to gently take her hand, leading her to sit on the bed as he perched next to her.

His face had lost the devilish smirk, rather he looked casual, if sincere. “Lavellan, do you still want to do this?”

She fought a laugh. “Ofcourse, The Iron Bull, that’s why I’m here.”

“Good, I just wanted to be sure.” He smiled, the corners of his mouth were lopsided, it was far too endearing. “Tell me what you like.”

Aldae balked. “In bed?”

He nodded, seeming unphased, as though he were asking how she preferred her coffee. Was this a cultural thing? She knew the Qunari were more lackadaisical about sex, and she certainly wasn’t shy about having it, but talking about it was something else.

She nibbled at her lip, trying to find the words to answer. 

“I like it… rough. Fast, but not too fast. _Fehendhis._ I like being on top. I like my hair being pulled, from the base of my neck, not the top of my head.” 

There was no hiding the heat that spread from her cheeks, down her chest and lower still. She felt painfully awkward, putting into words her preferences, but the imagery conjured of The Iron Bull fulfilling those preferences was distracting. 

He smiled, still looking relaxed, though there was a light glaze of lust behind his eyes, imperceptible if she wasn’t looking for it. 

“We’re going to use a watchword, okay?” His voice was measured, controlled. “If you want to stop, whenever, for whatever reason, you say ‘Katoh’, alright Lavellan?” He was leaning in, finally, _finally_ going to kiss her. She excitedly leant in to meet him halfway.

“Katoh?” The word fell from her lips. Qunlat? He immediately withdrew, the gap between them now felt vast. She didn’t feel rejected, she felt in _control._

“The Iron Bull?” She turned to face him better, the firm mattress shifting slightly underneath them. He just returned her gaze, no expectations, no judgement in his mannerisms. It made her heart ache. “Kiss me.”

He did just that. Using a hand to firmy cup the back of her neck, he pulled her tight to him. She clambered to straddle him, a more comfortable position for them both. She wrapped both arms around his neck, trapping him in a passionate embrace. She settled lower on his lap, the friction causing an immediate reaction. 

He smirked into the moan that escaped her lips, before moving to lavish kisses on her neck. He sucked and licked the skin, leaving the ghost of bruises in his wake. In return, Aldae explored the plane of muscle down his back, nails tracing lines across his skin. 

She pulled back, looking down at him from her elevated position, her breathing already heavy. “Biting?” 

A rumbling laugh burst out of the huge man beneath her. “Great by me.” A ray of morning shone against his wide smile, sparking even more hunger in her gut.

Usually at this point, she’d be stripping her partner of their upper clothing but whatever gods were watching had blessed her, and The Iron Bull was gloriously naked other than his pants. Sensing her thoughts, he looked up at her, mischief in his eye. 

“You seem pretty overdressed, Lavellan.”

“Help me out then?” She retorted, already pulling at her outer cloak and gloves. 

He smirked, surprisingly deft fingers making short work of her breastplate and pauldrons, leaving her in just her loose under-tunic and leggings. Her muscles cried, she hadn't realised how tense she'd been until The Iron Bull's hand was gently massaging her now unburdened thigh.

She sighed, half into the air, half into his mouth, as he lowered her down onto the bed, peppering kisses along her neck, chin and mouth. 

Once her head hit the pillow, she looked up at him, pure lust in her eyes. She played at the hem at the bottom of her tunic, before moving to pull it up and over her head. 

Resting his weight on a hand next to her head, the smile on his face was contentment, tinged with a lust to match her own. "Eager, little wolf, aren't you?"

"What are you waiting for?" Aldae murmured, meeting his gaze. 

He moved in closer, capturing her lips in a soft kiss, before pulling away. "Just enjoying the moment." As he deepened the kiss, he nudged her legs apart, pressing his waist towards her groin, sparking electric throughout her abdomen. 

"Enjoy it faster." Aldae had never been particularly patient.

He only smirked in return, conceding a quiet groan as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in tighter.

She shuffled down the bed in an attempt to pull her tunic off faster, freeing her breasts and torso to the cool morning air. From the way that The Iron Bull grinned, exhaling forcefully, Aldae felt confident that he liked what he saw. Her breasts were full, usually bound down, but after the long journey it was more comfortable to leave them free. 

He eagerly took one nipple into his mouth, sucking at it until it peaked like the mountains surrounding Skyhold. Her back arched, desperate for more of his touch, and he willingly obliged pulling at the ties of her leggings as she wiggled them off. 

Realising that she was now considerably more undressed than him, left only in her thin under-garment, Aldae looked up questioningly. The Iron Bull seemed in no rush to remove his own trousers, instead taking the hand that had wandered down to his waistband and pinning it up by her head. The movement was less forceful, more of a suggestion. 

"I told you, Lavellan, I want to make you come _undone._ " The voice that came from his mouth was thicker than she'd ever heard, and the knot of tension inside her grew larger. Instead of removing his own pants, he lowered himself down the bed before running the lightest of touches over the thin fabric covering her pubic mound. The heat of his lips met the juncture of hip and cloth, then all at once the fabric was gone, torn away by his teeth. 

Aldae fought the groan trying to escape her lips, caught between intense arousal and the ridiculousness of it all. Grabbing him roughly by the horns, she pulled him back up so she could kiss him and he willingly obliged, discarding the ruined garment. He was hastier now, their teeth clashing slightly, and her tongue ran over the sharpness of his canine teeth. It was a kiss to get lost in, and she would have if he hadn’t pulled back with a growl. One of her legs had wrapped back around his waist, guiding his weight down to where she needed it most, but by the way he forcefully pinned the leg back to the bed, he wasn’t having any of it. Resting on his knees, he leant back, taking a moment to just _look_ at her. 

“Fuck, Lavellan, you look so _good._ You’re beautiful.” The growl in his voice softened slightly, the tenderness in the words making her squirm uncomfortably. She was growing impatient, more so, and brought a hand that had been playing with her nipple down, parting her lips and finally putting pressure on her clit. The relief was short lived. He grabbed at her wrist, pinning it and her other hand back above her head, held with only one of his huge hands. Just as she started to get frustrated, he lowered his head to tease one of her nipples and his other hand settled just over her clit. It brushed once, twice, lightly over, before increasing the pressure. A digit dipped down to her entrance, finding her wet and ready. 

Her eyes snapped open, as one of his fingers probed inside her. A lopsided grin was stuck on his face, as his good eye met hers, thumb still gently circling her clit. She unconsciously flexed around the digit, earning a pleased growl as he curled it, stroking the soft wall inside. He added a second finger, with little resistance. Her legs had fallen open to him, as he kissed down her body again leaving her wrists unpinned, following the trailing lines of her vallaslin. Aldae’s mind had gotten so hazy already, that when his lips covered her sensitive bud her legs instinctually clamped tight around his head. 

She released the grip, ignoring his chuckles, as she tried not to get caught in her own head, before giving herself over to the sensations he was eliciting from her. _Fenendhis_ , he was talented with that mouth of his. And those _fingers._ He was thrusting them deep, curling them, twisting, all whilst he lavished her clit with gentle but insistent strokes of his tongue. The Iron Bull had moved far down the bed, but she could still reach his head and shoulders, squeezing at the muscle, caressing the stubble on the top of his head, anything to keep some part of her grounded. 

A white, burning heat was building in her gut, as he pulsed his fingers inside her. A low, wordless keen escaped her lips, morphing into a string of curses, something between elven and common that she tried to quell with an arm over her mouth. She usually had no qualms about being loud, but the early morning hour and the fear of being overheard had her paranoid. Her breath was heavy though, chest rising erratically. It felt like fire inside her, burning and building and lashing to get out, and she needed _more._

“ _Sethan, pala em._ ” 

His good eye connected with hers, looking at her questioningly. His fingers inside her slowed, a sheen of her own juices on his lips. “Lavellan, I need you to use common if you have instructions.” 

She groaned, not realising she’d slipped into elven. He withdrew his fingers from her, bringing them to his mouth and enjoying their taste lavisciously, whilst moving back up her body. He paused, looming above her as her breath became more controlled. 

“I said, ‘please, fuck me’. Her voice was low, but sure.

Aldae was fickle. She could be pedantic, overly consumed with detail, but as she pulled the drawstring on Bull’s pants and nudged the material down, she hurried over these smaller acts, she didn’t have time to think about the roughness of the material, the surprisingly trimmed black hair as she pulled the pants lower, the flash of hunger in the eye of the man above her, watching her every move. She wanted this _so much._

Sex was usually so physical for her, she was struggling with just how deep she’d gotten in her own head. Thankfully, The Iron Bull took the lead. He kicked off the pants, wiggling his good leg when the material got caught on his ankle, prompting a small giggle from her, a life line out of her spiraling thoughts. 

The giggle trailed off, as he leant one elbow next to her head, hand threading under her neck, through her white locks and tugging it into his grip. It forced her chin upwards, bearing her neck to him as he grazed his lips over her soft skin before nipping just below her ear. He caught her lips again, and she could taste herself on his tongue before he moved back down her neck, biting hard on the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“You sure?” His voice rumbled in her ear, forcing a shiver to roll down her spine. 

“Yes! Hurry up… _isalathe mar edhis!_ ” 

He chuckled above her, hand still caught in her hair. With his other, he guided his cock to just resting above her entrance. She could feel the weight of it bounce against her clit, the merest suggestion of pressure sparking again. He sheathed himself inside her, taking it painstakingly slowly. Every time she tried bucking up into him, his fist in her hair would tighten, sharp stabs of pain blending deliciously with the pleasure. 

After an excruciating amount of time, he was finally resting fully in her. He paused, waiting until she’d untensed around him. He released her hair, gently gripping her chin in his thumb and forefinger and guiding it down before brushing his lips over hers. The act was so tender, so soft, the heat that had been boiling inside her took a sharp edge, cutting at the bliss that had been building inside. 

The breath caught in her throat, making the next words sound jagged, rough. “Let me on top.”

A flash of something dark passed behind his eyes. Scooping his arm around her waist, he quickly maneuvered them around, careful not to catch his horns on the bed linens, all whilst still buried inside her. He was impressive.

When they both seemed comfortable, Aldae slowly withdrew, revelling in how well he fit inside her. Her hands roamed the muscles of his torso, darting over scars. She sunk down faster, eliciting a groan from The Iron Bull. As she picked up the pace, his hands moved to her hips, gripping her tightly, leaving red imprints on her pale skin. The tension in her gut increased tenfold, as her momentum increased, but as she chased her orgasm, something was missing. 

He might not speak elven, but The Iron Bull could pick up on her frustrations easily enough and seemed to know how to remedy them. One hand tilted her hip downwards, so her clit was rubbing against the base of his cock every time she rocked forward. His other hand traced a delicate line up the vallaslin on her torso, before stopping to roughly pinch a nipple. She cried out, moving to swat his hand but he caught her by the wrist to pull her down, putting more pressure on her sensitive bud.

“ _Fehendhis!_ ” 

He looked far too smug, as though he was about to say something cheesy, so she preemptively cut him off with a deep kiss, biting his lip just hard enough to draw blood. _Shit._ From the smug grin on his face, he didn’t seem to mind. He guided her to resume rocking again, flaring white heat to build higher and higher. She could feel her orgasm growing, building on the horizon, but just out of reach. This was frustratingly common for her, to never quite crest that mountain, during sex. On her own was another matter, but relying on someone else to finish her was rare. Relying on someone for anything, was rare.

She looked to the sky, cursing the gods, the roof beams, the spiders web in the corner, herself, anything, for ruining this otherwise astounding fuck for her. He brought a hand up to capture her face, roughly cupping her cheek, forcing her to look down at him. 

His face was intense, pleasure evident under a controlled surface. However, his voice betrayed him, coming out in a low growl that made her squirm. “Come for me, Aldae.”

_Oh._ He’d never called her by her first name. Oh, _shit._

“Oh, shit! Fuck, damn, _fehendhis!_ ” The words tumbled from her mouth as her back arched sharply, sharper than it had any right bending, as her orgasm peaked and rippled through her.   
It felt like all her nerves had exploded and she clapped a hand over mouth to stifle the cry that escaped. 

She rocked forward, resting her forehead on his chest, trying to catch her breath. She could feel The Iron Bull rumbling underneath her.

“Fuck, Lavellan, you feel so good, coming on my dick.” 

She laughed, still pressed against his chest, feeling his chest rising and falling, too absorbed in the shockwaves of her orgasm to really listen to his dirty talk. He let her breathe, holding her as she rode through the last of the trembles.

She rose sluggishly, leaning in to kiss him, a lazy smile meeting his cheesy grin. “Come for _me_ , Iron Bull.” 

His chuckle was muffled by her lips on his, as his hands resumed their furious grip on her hips, holding her above him as he thrust up into her. Her inside walls were still fluttering, overly sensitive, but she revelled feeling him inside her, greedy for more. As his thrusts became more erratic, his lips travelled back down to her neck, leaving angry, red marks in his wake. He came, teeth sunk into her shoulder, stifling a roar into her skin. 

A content silence fell over them, before Aldae pulled off him, blindly reaching for some scrap of fabric to clean up with. The Iron Bull pre-empted her, passing her a clean, damp washcloth that had been sitting next to a bowl of water, that she'd completely missed. He passed it to her and tidied himself up, before leaning back again, propped up on an elbow.

In hindsight, Aldae realised he was watching her to see her next move, though her post-sex, heady bliss was currently blinding her to that. When she was as clean as she could get with a rag, she flopped next to him on the bed, which she now realised was appropriately massive for someone of his stature. 

Lying on her back, Aldae stared at the ceiling, a contented sigh leaving her lips. From his higher vantage on his elbow, The Iron Bull looked down at her, an appreciative glance roaming over her body, lingering on her feet, of all places. She must have been tapping her toes, a tell of being pleased that Amas would always tease her for.

She stopped quickly and he looked back up at her, catching her eye with a knowing look. Of course he noticed. He just smiled, so cautiously, so kindly that she pulled him down into a kiss rather than look at it for too long and risk the feelings that could come with such a gaze. 

She tested the muscles in her legs, finding them only mildly shaky. Moving to sit up, she was interrupted by an ungodly growl from her stomach and she realised she'd barely eaten anything due to the nerves and tension she'd had beforehand. She sank back onto the blanket, the blush that had only just started to retreat now back with a vengeance.

"I'm glad I could help you work up an appetite." The Iron Bull laughed, wiggling his eyebrows at her, a single finger tracing over invisible patterns on her torso.

"You certainly did, that was… fantastic." Her voice sounded groggy, as though she'd just woken up. It would be _so easy_ to lie here all morning, but she'd already disturbed his morning plenty and her body clearly needed to find sustenance.

That all familiar tension was creeping in again. She gave him a gentle peck on the cheek, too twee, too soft to be wholly genuine from her, but hopefully he wouldn't notice. It was no secret that she was awkward, but Aldae was never more awkward than just after sex. Listening to her body, she rose again and collected her armour, pulling her tunic over her severely mussed hair, slipping into leggings whilst leant against the cold stone. She'd strapped her pauldrons and chest piece on haphazardly, and had everything else bundled in her arms when she heard the bed rustle, and turned to find a still naked qunari in front of her.

"Lavellan, you ok?" 

She met his gaze. Was she? _Yes._

"Yes, I very much am ok. And…" she swallowed down the bundle of nerves that had settled at the back of her throat, stepping forward and laying a hand on his chest "I sincerely hope we can do this again. Soon." 

He seemed to be searching her face, though whether he found what he was looking for she couldn't tell. There was that gentle smile again, that made her stomach flip. A hand brushed over her jawline, pulling her into a fierce kiss that she reciprocated, as burdened as she was. 

"I'd love that. I have an idea of some things you might like, next time." _Oh?_ The curiosity was almost enough to keep her there, pressed between the door and his expansive chest. 

He stepped back, moving out of range of the door so some poor (or lucky?) servant wouldn't accidentally get an eye full. 

She gave him one last smile, as relaxed as she could muster before turning and walking through the door. 

"Enjoy the rest of your day, Iron Bull."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sethan, pala em:_ Please, fuck me.  
>  _Isalathe mar edhis:_ Put your dick in me.


	13. i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull gets to witness Aldae in her natural habitat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been a hot sec, eh? Honestly I just wanted to write more smut.

\---

“Mistress Aldae, I must insist you sit up straighter as we approach the palace. I cannot stress enough the -” Lady Josephine had the manners to hide her irritation as the entire carriage chimed in to finish her sentence. “ _-importance of appearances!_ ”

Aldae and Josephine were joined in the carriage by Leliana and Amas, and naturally the majority of the past three days had been spent going over Inquisition business and proper etiquette that the two elves were entirely bored with. Even Leliana, despite her impervious poker face, seemed restless. Aldae had begged Amas to let her ride alone, she swore she’d probably make better time, but he’d insisted that she travel with them. “It’s only four days,” he’d said. 

The Inquisition had spared no expense, sending Amas and his inner circle to Halamshiral. Theirs was the head of a train of carriages that made their way through the countryside and to Orlais, drawing significant attention. Their transport, whilst not obsenationiously decorated, bore delicate engravings similar to the patterns on the arravels of the Lavellan clan. A party of their size; 10 companions, 3 advisors, 5 carriage drivers and 2 cooks, was far too large to stay in the small inns they passed, meaning that every night, they’d find a quiet spot just off the road and make camp. 

She had to admit, it was nice, watching Amas in his element, surrounded by friends, enjoying the surprisingly decent travel food, and the crate of ale that Varric had stashed on the back of a wagon in lieu of actual supplies. As per usual, she kept her distance, preferring to watch silently. The first two nights had been uneventful, Varric had tried to convince her to play some Wicked Grace with them, which she’d declined at first before giving in after a few drinks. The second night, she’d found a spar partner in Cassandra, both warriors relieved to finally burn off some energy after sitting around all day. They’d wordlessly fought, swords doing the talking. Aldae admired the controlled ferocity in the woman’s technique and neither emerged the clear victor. Sweaty and panting, they’d called a stalemate when they were both exhausted, and parted with respectful, if awkward smiles. 

The third night had been more relaxed, she’d even willingly joined Amas whilst he was sitting with Dorian, Josephine and Vivienne. She barely said anything, but enjoyed the buzz of voices around her as she sipped her drink. The conversation had naturally turned to Orlesian politics, and Aldae had entirely zoned out, absentmindedly looking out over the camp. She wasn’t looking for anything or anyone consciously, so when her sight landed on a single eye that held her gaze for a moment too long, she instinctively inhaled, pulling some of her drink in with the intake of breath. She coughed, trying to catch her breath as the conversation quietened .

“Are you quite alright, dear?” Vivienne’s saccharine sweet voice cut through the silence, as all eyes fell on her. 

Aldae coughed a few more times to right her throat, before smiling tightly and nodding. “Yes, thank you.” She ignored the pointed look that Amas was giving her, off to the right. She made no move to leave, as much as the embarrassment and the anxiety started to creep into her gut, and she forced herself to relax and try to seem interested in the conversation as it started up again. 

It wasn’t that she’d been avoiding The Iron Bull. But the very day after they’d been together had been when the Inquisition set off for Halamshiral, and they’d not had any time to sit and talk. The last thing Aldae wanted to do was draw suspicion or set off gossip, and she’d not bumped into him naturally over the past few days. Had she maybe walked the other direction if she’d seen him coming? Possibly, but only because she needed to fetch some apples from the back of a carriage for Amas. And there had been the time he’d sat across the fire from her, but the flames had been too high and she could barely make out any of him, never mind look at his face or make conversation. 

“...Aldae?” 

Amas’s voice cut through the fog in her mind, as once more she snapped back to attention. 

She blinked once, trying to ignore the now inquisitive look that her brother was giving her. “My apologies, I didn’t hear you.”

He squinted at her, doubt evident in his eyes. 

“I was asking if you had practiced your dance steps, for the Winter Palace.” Dorian chimed in, his typical smirk ever present.

She raised an eyebrow. “Ah, no, I don’t think so, Dorian.” 

“Shame, it’s going to be a wonder watching the nobles balk at one elf on the ballroom floor, never mind two.”

Amas nudged her gently with his elbow, a doe-eyed smile on his face as he gazed at Dorian. The conversation started up again without her, the discussion turning to the popular dance of the time, some new convoluted type of waltz she didn’t care to learn. Eventually, the fire grew small and the majority of the camp had found their bedrolls. There was a stillness and quiet to the air that gave Aldae a small glimpse of home, a wistfulness settling around her. 

“We set up a tent for you.” Amas’s voice was soft, sensing the mood.

She gave him a look that he knew translated to _‘you know you shouldn’t have bothered.’_ “Thank you _lethallin_ , but I’ll be awake a while longer, enjoying the calm before the storm.” 

He gave her a look that she knew meant _‘get some rest, for gods sake’_ before turning towards the tent he was sharing with Dorian and retiring for the night. 

She waited a while after the faint glow from an oil lamp inside his tent had gone out, and the last of the fire embers were only flickering. Looking out over the camp, only Blackwall was still awake, keeping watch. When he noticed her, he looked desperate for darkspawn to appear and swallow him whole, averting his gaze immediately. Ignoring him entirely, she looked to the treeline, and moving silently towards it, she let the darkness envelop her. 

\---

Of course he saw her disappear into the forest like some mysterious fae creature. Bull had been just past the first few trees further down the camp site, taking a leak in peace when he’d noticed the movement. He pondered to himself, wondering whether to follow. Lavellan _seemed_ as though she were avoiding him, but also barely any time had passed since they’d had sex, so maybe he was wrong. Unlikely, but possible. In any other situation, he’d leave it until they next saw each other naturally, talk things out casually, but considering they were about to enter a high stress, high stakes situation where the discreetest action or quietest word could spark rumours abound, Bull thought his practical options were actually quite limited. 

He set off into the woods after her, trying to navigate quietly and avoid hitting his horns on low lying branches. Only the rustle of fallen leaves underfoot broke the silence, as he did his best to find any kind of trail from where he calculated she’d be. After nearly ten minutes of moving soundlessly away from camp, without picking up on any tracks, he paused. He could keep going, but qunari had no type of darkvision, and as capable as he was, he was still risking getting lost in the woods alone. 

The snap of a twig behind him shattered the silence. He spun to meet it, hand instinctively moving towards his axe. The flash of eyes, reflecting what little light there was, looked back at him. 

His breath came out in a light huff, as he dropped his hand back to his side. “Are you following me?” He asked.

Thankfully, the dark figure in front of him let out a tiny laugh. “What are you doing, The Iron Bull?” 

In the dark, she looked somehow menacing, yet ethereal. The sky was cloudy tonight, but what little moonlight there was reflected off her hair, giving a soft glow to her skin. 

“Looking for the bathroom, is it around here?” He tried to keep his tone light, but she didn’t reply, or even move, other than adjusting her hand from where it had been resting on the pommel of her sword at her side, to hang limply by her belt. After an awkward pause, he continued. “I was curious. Where are you going?”

Her head fell to the side as she tilted her chin up at him. “I’m going to find somewhere to sleep.” She sounded so casual, so nonplussed.

Bull inclined his head towards the rough direction of camp. “We have tents and bedrolls back there, y’know.” 

“I know.”

Another awkward pause.

“Err, alright Lavellan. You ok? You seem-” He started to speak before she interrupted, voice still laid-back.

“The Iron Bull. Would you like to fuck?” She asked him so offhandedly, it was as though she were offering him a slice of apple. There was a faint smile on her lips.

Of course he did. “I wanted to make sure you were ok, after last time. I know I made a comment about a _‘next time’_ but I didn’t want you to feel pressured, Lavellan.” He took a breath, observing the minute changes in her face. A hint of concern. “But, to answer your question, _yes_ I definitely want to fuck.” A flash of relief.

“That’s good. I do too.” For a moment, she looked almost bashful, the smallest crease furrowing in her brow, but she took a few quick steps towards him before pressing her lips to his. His arms swept around her waist, enjoying the feeling of her hands snaking up behind his neck. The rest of her body pressed up against him snugly, and Bull found himself appreciating that he didn’t have to crane down to kiss her too much. 

Her hands quickly wandered from the back of his neck, to the plane of muscle of his upper torso as he deepened the kiss. His hands found the curve of her ass naturally, squeezing fiercely and he greedily swallowed the moan that he’d elicited from her. 

She pulled away quickly, putting just enough distance between them to start pulling at the belt of her tasset, losing the armour deftly. She wasn’t wearing her full armour set, but she still made short work of her pauldrons and chestplate, leaving them scattered in the leaves. 

“You seem like a pro at this, Lavellan.” 

A glint of mischief sparked in her eyes as she glanced from the armour to him. “I’m Dalish, remember. Outdoor sex is hardly new to me.” She closed the gap between them again.

Now just in her leggings and a loose shirt, she made an immediate move to the belt of his pants. 

“No.” The command was firm, as he clasped both her wrists in one of his large hands. 

The smile dropped from her lips, and he swore for a second she pouted. “I don’t want to wait, I’m ready for you _now._ ” He maneuvered her hands above her head, and pushed them backwards till her back was against a tree.

“I’m sure you are.” His free hand was pulling at the tie keeping up her leggings, loosening until they started to sag on her hips. Locking his gaze on her, he let the grip on her wrists go, but kept eye contact. “Keep your hands up.” 

When it seemed like she would do as he said, he lowered himself to his knees, slowly pulling off her leggings and undergarment, leaving her almost bare to the cold, save for the loose shirt she was still wearing. Unceremoniously, he threw one of her legs over his horn and shoulder, before diving in to the source of the sweet scent between her legs. 

He heard the sharp intake of breath, as he explored gently between her folds. Just as he was getting started, he felt a soft warmth and pressure of her fingers splayed across his head. He pulled away, looking up. She looked down, irritation and confusion passing across her face. And then a quick shift to pain, as he sharply smacked her on the side of her ass cheek. 

Her eyes widened, but no sound passed her lips. Rather, her hands pressed harder against his head, guiding him back towards her clit. He smirked to himself, instead turning his mouth towards the velvety skin of her inner thigh. He found the softest part he could, before biting down, _hard_. This time, a sharp intake of breath passed from her lips.

He pulled away, looking back up at her, the blush on her cheeks matching the blooming skin of her inner thigh. “You know the word? If you want to stop?” 

Lavellan nodded quickly, regarding him fiercely. 

“Good. Hands up.” 

This time, she obeyed begrudgingly. He quietly missed her touch on his head and neck, but there would be time for that later. After a delicate kiss on the angry skin of her inner thigh, he settled back over her folds, starting with small, focused ministrations. His tongue darted over her clit with practiced motions. As her breathing got heavier, he dipped further down, pressing past her entrance. The naturally longer tongue of the qunari was a _true_ blessing. 

He felt her gasp and shift above him, as though she wanted to double over and use him as balance, but she regained her composure, keeping her hands above her. A burst of pride ran through him. Stretched out, she looked so lean and lithe, a muscular siren looming above him. 

The scent of sweat and arousal was heady, intoxicating, and Bull resisted the urge to palm his own erection, twitching desperately against the fabric of his trousers. As he replaced his tongue with his fingers, he felt the muscles in her leg tense and twitch. He smiled fondly, trying to elicit anything louder than a groan from her, but she was well practiced at being quiet. It felt almost like a challenge. He was okay with that.

Strokes turned quicker, more insistent, as the tension in her leg spread to her torso, and her breath became shaky. One hand was still up, grasping at a branch, but another had moved down to squeeze her breast as she worried at her lower lip. She was captivating. 

Lavellan’s eyes, previously shut tight, opened slowly to regard him. Her expression was indiscernible as he lavished attention on her clit, sucking and nipping at it greedily. Slowly, purposefully, she brought the hand that had still been up and gently brushed down his face, grazing his stubble, resting at his cheek. The faintest hint of a wicked smile passed across her face, a clear test. 

A growl rose up in his throat unchecked, as he pulled the hand cupping his face down, forcing her to arch over him, hands resting on his horns and back. Moaning hotly into her cunt, he curled his fingers just so, finding the spot that made her quiver. He pulled back the hand that had been stabilizing her hip, just enough to get enough momentum to spank her hashly. Bull revelled in the gasp he drew from her, kneading the sensitive skin before slapping her over again. It was almost like hitting himself in the head, a ridiculous image he pushed down as he listened for her noises of approval. Her orgasm hit after the fourth spank, her inner walls contracting almost painfully around his fingers, as she moaned quietly, a jumble of elven and nonsensical noises as he guided her through it. _Gods_ , the sounds she made were _delicious_ , Bull thought. 

He helped maneuver her now quivering leg back to the floor as he stood, supporting her weight whilst she stopped shaking. Her hands were grasping tightly at his shoulder harness, her head buried in his chest.

“You alright, Aldae?” 

She made no move to extract herself, nodding gently against his skin. Her hair was loose, and he tucked a strand behind her ear, finding the way her ear twitched in response extremely endearing. Eventually, still clinging onto his harness, she looked up at him, eyes glossy, smile lopsided. 

In a voice that had no right being so husky and alluring, she murmured, “Now can we fuck, Iron Bull?” 

His dick twitched, as though summoned. He’d hardly softened earlier, bringing her to orgasm, if anything he was even more painfully erect.

Keeping one hand around her waist to support her (taking pride in that her legs were still quivering slightly), he moved to unbuckle his pants, the cold night air stinging against rigid cock. “Now we can fuck.” He replied, the traces of a goofy smile likely still on his face. With little effort, he lifted her up, appreciating the little noise of appreciation she made. Her usually rigid posture was now languid, as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She was magnificent. 

As he lined himself up, his cock twitched, lightly slapping against her swollen bud. She actually _squeaked_ , her eyes widening in shock. A rumbling laughter erupted from him, as she looked at him indignantly, hushing him. The hushing was soon replaced by a deep moan as he sunk into her, her walls tensing around him, a delicious tightness making him hunger for more. 

Legs squeezing his midriff, her hands pulled his head down, capturing his lips with her own. He returned the kiss greedily, the taste of her cunt mixing with the taste of her tongue, an addictive, charged sensation. Her fingers caressed the juncture of his skull and neck, a sensitive spot that made the knot in his stomach tighten. He was ridiculously close already, so he moved excruciatingly slowly inside her, only deliberate, shallow thrusts. She whined needily into his mouth, wordlessly begging for more. 

One hand braced them on the tree, whilst his other held her firmly by the now beet-red ass cheek that he’d been spanking. As he pinched the tender skin, she squirmed in his grasp, desperate to up the pace. 

“ _Sathan_ , faster, _sathan!_ ” Her voice was whiny, keening, fruitlessly grinding against him.

In that moment, a ray of moonlight emerged, catching her hair and casting an ethereal glow. Her lids were hooded, heavy with lust, her cheeks fully blushed and a sheen of sweat coating her brow. When his name tumbled from her lips, half sigh, half command, he was hers.

He smothered the roar trying to escape him with a blistering kiss, his head spinning with words melding from qunlat, to elven, to unintelligent noises he could make little sense of. 

He lowered them both down to the floor, a little unsteady, still sheathed within her, as she straddled his lap. The sensation of her calloused fingertips grazing the stubble of his head brought him slowly out of the haze in his mind. She was smiling lazily back at him, glowing as if she were her own light source. 

“ _Fuck._ ” It came out more like a huff of breath, than an actual word, but she still laughed gently in response. 

“Yeah…” 

As he softened inside her, she extracted herself, reaching towards her pile of armour. He reluctantly let her go, immediately missing her heat. Switching positions and taking the pressure off of his bad knee, he twisted to lean against the tree trunk, stretching his legs and enjoying the view of her pert ass in the air. She rooted around in a small pouch attached to her belt, pulling out a waterskin and a few squares of cloth, probably stashed for wiping down her sword, but they were clean. After last time, he expected she’d be up and gone in a flash, but she surprised him by crawling back over to him, offering him a soaked rag whilst cleaning herself up. Cleaning and redressing, he watched her touch as it lingered on the creeping bruise on her inner thigh, as she leant back against his side. 

“That doesn’t happen often.” Lavellan’s voice was quiet, lacking the harsh tone she usually carried.

He huffed, wondering whether to put an arm around her, whether that would make her tense up and ruin the lanquidity they’d settled in. “Sex in the woods?” 

A small laugh. “No, that’s not that rare... I mean… ah. I don’t often... _finish..._ with a partner.” She was looking out into the darkness, expression unreadable again, but the blush in her ears betrayed her. 

That made sense. “I hear that’s pretty common, y’know.” She tensed imperceptibly next to him. He continued, “but, for what it’s worth, I’m honoured.” She smiled tightly, but relaxed into him.

Her eyes snapped back up to him, a dubious smile playing on her lips. A single brow quirked as she murmured, “I’m sure you are.” 

They rested together quietly for a few minutes, only contented silence passing between them. Qunari were pretty warm blooded, but Bull could feel the cold creeping into his bones, making his knee ache. He must have twitched, because he disturbed whatever reverie Lavellan had slipped into. She jolted, sitting straighter and losing the little contact they had. She appraised him critically, a tight smile still lingering. 

“You should head back, The Iron Bull, before your nipples get frostbite and fall off.”

“You could stay in my tent if you want? Plenty of room, considering the space the horns take up.” Even with the joke, he felt foolish for asking. 

She turned away from him, unhurriedly pulling on her leggings and armour again. “Thank you but no.” 

She didn’t seem to feel the cold, so it wasn’t even worth making a ‘qunari are better than blankets’ joke. 

Arms crossed, she turned back, looking like a debate was raging in her head. Her hair had fallen in front of her face, a curtain hiding half of her expression. She looked apologetic, as she returned her gaze to him. “I can’t sleep with a roof over my head.” 

“Well, I can, but not well.” She continued. “And with everything about to happen, the last thing I need to be is sleep deprived.” 

Bull chuckled, he could understand the reasoning at least. There would be time for questions later, if she’d entertain him. “You do you, Lavellan. Just don’t freeze to death.” 

Her dubious expression turned to one of mock indignation, as she fought a small smile. She glided up to him, leaning in to give him a feather light kiss on the cheek. He turned his chin to capture her lips at the last second, hand snaking up into her hair, holding her close to him. She pulled back with a sigh, before turning away and walking into the darkness. 

His thoughts frustratingly clouded, Bull headed back towards camp. Emerging from the treeline, he spotted Blackwall, still keeping watch, looking at him suspiciously. Bull straightened his pants, putting on his most pained expression. 

“Hot damn, that poison ivy got me good.”

Balking, Blackwall choked on his drink and averted his gaze, muttering to himself. Bull made his way to the tent, hoping to whatever might be listening that some sleep helped him clear his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lethallin: loved one  
> sathan: faster


End file.
